THE  RED  RUGS 
OF 


HELEN  DAVENPORT  GIBBOM: 


-H  \J 


MAY   3  1918 


<sca 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 


THE  RED  RUGS,,,„j^ 
OF  TARSUS  I   MAY  3  1 


-^ 


A  WOMAN'S  RECORD  OF  THE  ^^^^IggjCAL  SI 
ARMENIAN  MASSACRE  OF  1909 


BY  ,// 

HELEN  DAVENPORT  GIBBONS 


»*awv><V!«* 


NEW  YORK 
THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1917 


Copyright,  1917,  by 
The  Century  Co. 


Published,  April,  1917 


TO 

XEbe  /IBemors  of 

C.  H.  M.  DOUGHTY-WYLIE,  V.C. 

"THE  MAJOR"  OF  THIS  BOOK 

Who  was  killed  in  action  leading  a 

charge  on  Gallipoli  Peninsula, 

April  29,  1915 


PREFACE 

When  I  was  a  Freshman  at  Bryn  Mawr  I 
decided  I  should  "write  something."  My  girl- 
hood was  uneventful  and  joyous — the  girlhood 
of  the  lucky  American  who  has  a  wholesome 
good  time.  I  knew  I  must  wait  for  experience. 
I  was  too  sensitive  about  my  youth  to  expose 
what  I  was  thinking,  for  fear  "they"  would 
know  I  was  not  grown  up. 

The  experiences  I  was  looking  for  came. 
They  were  so  painful  that  seven  years  passed 
before  I  put  pen  to  paper.  To-day,  after  the 
lapse  of  years,  I  am  not  sure  that  my  perspec- 
tive is  good.  In  looking  back  upon  those  six 
weeks  in  Adana  Province  between  April  thir- 
teenth and  the  end  of  May,  nineteen-nine,  they 
seem  longer  than  all  the  rest  of  my  life. 

The  thought  of  publishing  I  rejected  and  re- 
jected again.     I  avoided  dwelling  on  that  time 

[vii] 


PREFACE 

the  way  one  puts  off  going  back  to  a  house 
one  has  not  entered  since  a  loved  one  died.  To 
this  day  we  have  lived  up  to  an  agreement  made 
back  in  those  days,  and  my  husband  and  I  have 
never  told  each  other  the  worst  we  know  about 
the  atrocities  committed  by  the  Turks. 

But  recent  events  in  Armenia  brought  it  all 
back  again.  My  indignation,  and  a  sense  of 
duty  and  of  pity,  transcended  all  personal  feel- 
ings. I  lived  again  that  night  in  Tarsus,  when 
we — seven  defenseless  women,  our  one  foreign 
man  a  brave  young  Swiss  teacher  of  French, 
and  4,800  Armenians  waited  our  turn  at  the 
hands  of  the  Kurds. 

Massacres  had  begun  again,  a  thousand  times 
worse  than  before.  Other  American  women 
were  in  the  same  untold  peril  that  I  had  been. 
The  whole  Armenian  people  were  marked  for 
extermination.  Now,  as  then,  help  had  to 
come.  But  from  where?  What  could  I  do? 
I  could  not  go  out  there.  I  had  my  four 
babies.  I  had  four  hundred  and  fifty  French 
[viii] 


PREFACE 

soldiers'  babies  I  had  been  mothering  since  the 
war  began. 

I  had  no  time  to  write  a  book,  although  the 
old  Freshman  ambition  still  existed.  I  had 
been  waiting  ever  since  my  marriage  in  nine- 
teen-eight  for  a  quiet  time  to  come  when  I  could 
settle  down  and  cultivate  a  literary  instinct, 
but  the  chance  never  came.  Our  honeymoon 
had  never  finished — it  has  n't  yet.  I  had  set  up 
six  homes  in  seven  years.  We  had  lived  in 
Tarsus  (Armenia),  Paris,  Constantinople, 
Paris  again,  Princeton  (New  Jersey),  and 
then  settled  in  Paris  for  the  third  time. 

In  Tarsus  we  went  through  the  massacres  of 
April,  1909,  when  thirty  thousand  Armenians 
were  slaughtered  by  the  Turks  in  Adana 
Province  alone.  My  first  baby  was  born  on 
May  5th  that  year,  under  martial  law,  in  a  lit- 
tle Armenian  town  that  was  only  saved  from 
similar  experiences  by  the  protecting  guns  of 
the  warships  of  seven  nations.  At  the  end  of 
that  year  we  had  settled  in  our  first  apartment 

[ix] 


PREFACE 

in  Paris,  and  CHristmas  was  no  sooner  past 
than  we  had  the  famous  flood  of  1910,  when  a 
quarter  of  the  city  was  under  water. 

There  was  nothing  dull  about  our  life  of 
three  years  in  Constantinople.  First  came  the 
cholera  epidemic;  the  Effendi,  my  little  son, 
was  born  in  a  house  where  the  neighbors  on 
one  side  had  cholera  and  those  on  the  other 
side  small-pox.  Then  the  war  between  Turkey 
and  Italy;  more  cholera;  huge  fires  which  de- 
stroyed whole  quarters  of  the  city;  and  finally 
the  First  Balkan  War,  when  ten  thousand 
wounded  men  came  into  the  city  in  a  single 
day,  St.  Sophia  was  filled  with  a  mixture  of 
thousands  of  refugees  and  cholera  stricken  sol- 
diers, and  I  sheltered  myself  from  a  west  wind 
on  a  hillside  above  my  home  and  listened  with 
grim  satisfaction  to  the  Christian  guns  of  the 
Balkan  Allies  thundering  at  the  gates  of  the 
city. 

Then  the  Chellabi  *  sent  me  back  to  Paris, 

*  "Chellabi"— Turkish  for  "master  of  the  house." 
[x] 


PREFACE 

to  find  an  apartment  near  the  Bibliotheque 
National.  Kitty  Giggles  and  the  Effendi  had 
ordered  a  new  sister,  who  was  to  be  called 
Mignonne,  and  if  she  was  not  to  be  born  in 
Constantinople  the  sooner  I  got  to  Paris  the 
better.  Mignonne  and  I  were  scarcely  home 
from  the  Paris  hospital  than  the  Second  Bal- 
kan War  broke  out — and  the  Chellabi  was 
down  in  Albania.  He  had  to  decide  whether 
he  would  stay  there  and  follow  the  Serbian 
Ai'my  in  the  field,  or  come  back  through  the 
thick  of  it  to  me  and  the  baby  daughter  he  had 
never  seen  and  the  musty  old  manuscripts  in  the 
Bibliotheque.  It  took  him  a  month  to  get 
through,  while  I  waited  in  Paris  without  news 
of  him. 

October  that  year  found  us  in  Princeton, 
New  Jersey.  Friends  at  home  pleaded  that 
we  had  been  away  five  years,  and  it  was  time 
we  came  back  to  them.  At  Princeton,  which 
has  the  second  purest  water  supply  in  the 
world,  Kitty  Giggles  and  the  Effendi  in  some 

[xi] 


PREFACE 

mysterious  way  were  struck  down  with  typhoid, 
and  four  months  of  anxiety  taught  us  that  war 
is  nothing  compared  to  a  sick  baby.  By  a  mir- 
acle both  recovered,  and  May,  1914,  found  us 
all  happily  playing  on  the  beach  in  Brittany. 

In  a  few  weeks  our  first  real  vacation  was 
suddenly  brought  to  an  end  by  the  beginning  of 
the  gi-eat  European  War,  and  the  Chellabi 
had  to  leave  hastily  for  Paris,  alone,  on  Mobih- 
zation  Day.  All  the  babies  in  the  little  Breton 
village,  including  my  own  three,  were  down 
with  whooping-cough.  The  following  seven 
weeks  down  there  were  a  circus.  I  did  every- 
thing, from  mending  the  skull  of  a  peasant 
woman  who  fell  down  stairs  in  a  fit  of  drunken 
grief  to  acting  as  unofficial  maire  of  the  com- 
mune and  making  out  permis  de  sejour  and 
passports  for  the  Maire's  adjoint  to  stamp. 

The  journey  back  to  Paris  in  the  same  month 
as  the  Battle  of  the  Marne  was  comparatively 
easy,  as  most  of  the  traffic  was  in  the  opposite 
direction.     The  two  years  since  then,  in  this 

[xii] 


PREFACE 

heroine  city  of  Paris  in  wartime  have  been  an 
unforgettable  experience,  in  which  both  fatigue 
and  leisure  have  alike  been  impossible.  The 
"Ickle  One"  came  into  the  world  last  Novem- 
ber, to  find  her  mother  deep  in  baby  relief  work. 
Her  real  name  is  "Hope,"  because  of  my  belief 
that  the  great  hope  of  France  and  of  the  world 
is  in  the  new  generation. 

Now  it  is  eight  years  that  we  have  been  in- 
habiting storm  centers,  and  I  have  come  to  be- 
lieve that  my  function  is  to  create  a  normal 
home  atmosphere  in  abnormal  conditions. 

The  book  I  have  dreamed  of  has  never  been 
written.  The  appeal  on  my  sympathies  made 
by  the  sufferings  of  the  Armenians  of  to-day, 
however,  required  that  something  should  be 
done.  For  this  reason  I  have  resurrected  the 
old  and  yellowed  letters  which  I  wrote  to  my 
mother  during  that  agonizing  time  in  Tarsus. 
Portions  of  them  have  been  rewritten,  and  cer- 
tain intimate  details  in  which  the  public  can 
have  no  interest  have  been  cut  out,  and  I  have 

[xili] 


PREFACE 

occasionally  added  a  few  explanatory  details 
to  make  things  clearer  to  the  general  reader. 
I  now  send  them  out  in  the  hope  that  the  plain 
story  of  one  American  woman's  experiences 
will  bring  home  to  other  American  women  and 
to  American  men  the  reality  and  the  awf  ulness 
of  these  massacres  and  the  heroism  of  the 
American  missionaries,  who,  in  many  cases, 
have  lain  down  their  lives  in  defense  of  their 
Armenian  friends  and  fellow  Christians. 

Technically  speaking,  we  were  not  mission- 
aries. We  went  to  Tarsus  at  the  invitation  of 
Dr.  Thomas  Davidson  Christie,  the  President 
of  the  College  there,  to  spend  a  year  render- 
ing what  service  we  could  to  the  regularly  ap- 
pointed missionaries ;  therefore  I  am  at  liberty 
to  express,  as  I  did  above,  my  admiration  for 
the  American  missionaries  from  a  purely  im- 
partial standpoint. 


[xiv] 


CONTENTS 

CHAFTEB  PAGE 

I     Half  Way  Through  the  First  Year  .  3 

II     Three    Christmases    and    the    Seven 

Sleepers 13 

III     A  Visit  to  Adana 32 

IV     Great  Expectations 48 

V     Round   about   Tarsus 60 

VI     Hamlet  and  the  Gathering  of  the 

Storm    Clouds 92 

VII     The   Storm  Approaches     ....  103 

VIII     The  Storm  Breaks Ill 

IX     Life  AND  Death 132 

X     Why.? 147 

XI     Abdul  Hamid's  Last  Day   ....  156 

XII     The  Young  Turks  and  the  Toy  Fleet  162 

XIII     A  New  Life 172 

XIV     Off  to  Egypt 183 


THE  RED  RUGS 
OF  TARSUS 


THE  RED  RUGS 
OF  TARSUS 

HALF  WAY  THROUGH  THE 
FIRST  YEAR 

Tarsus,  Turhey-in-Asia, 
December  second, 
Nineteen-Eight. 
Mother  dear  : 

My  first  married  birthday!  I  am  twenty- 
six  years  old.  It  is  twenty-six  weeks  since  The 
Day.  I  have  been  counting  up  the  different 
places  at  which  we  stopped  on  the  way  from 
New  York  to  Tarsus.  This  is  the  twenty- 
sixth  abode  we  have  occupied  in  the  twenty-six 
weeks.  Isn't  that  a  coincidence?  You  are 
smiling  and  saying  that  it  is  just  like  honey- 
mooners  to  notice  it  at  all. 

[3] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Wish  you  could  sit  beside  me  near  our  big 
log  fire  in  the  bedroom.  The  fireplace  is  made 
of  solid  stone,  and  in  it  we  burn  whole  logs. 
When  the  wind  is  blowing  a  certain  direction, 
puffs  come  down  the  chimney  and  the  smoke 
nearly  chokes  me.  It  is  good  for  us  that  this 
is  only  an  occasional  happening.  Herbert  in- 
sists solemnly  that  the  smoke  of  a  wood  fii'e 
is  good  for  the  eyes.  Even  with  his  eyes  smart- 
ing and  half-shut,  I  can  see  him  twinkle  and 
know  that  he  is  teasing. 

I  am  training  myself  to  look  after  every 
little  detail  in  the  care  of  our  rooms.  In  the 
morning  I  put  all  "ingoodorder."  Chips  are 
picked  up  and  thrown  into  the  woodbox. 
Tumblers  and  mirror  polished,  every  corner 
dusted.  'No  meals  for  me  to  think  about:  for 
the  mission  family  eats  in  the  college  dining- 
room. 

Each  of  the  three  young  couples  in  this  house 
has  what  Mother  Christie  calls  a  house  boy. 
That  means  a  student  who  is  making  his  own 

[4] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

way.  Ours  is  a  Greek  about  sixteen  years 
old,  whose  tuition  we  pay.  He  gives  us  two 
hours'  work  each  day.  Socrates  makes  our 
fires,  puts  the  saddles  on  our  horses,  brings 
water,  and  goes  to  the  market  to  fetch  oranges 
(of  which  I  eat  an  inordinate  number).  A 
fire  is  made  under  a  huge  kettle,  like  my  grand- 
mother's apple-butter  boiler,  and  hot  water  is 
obtained  in  this  way  for  our  baths.  If  we 
want  a  bath  at  night,  Socrates  starts  the  fire  at 
supper-time,  and  brings  us  the  water  during 
the  little  recess  he  has  between  two  evening 
study  hours.  He  keeps  my  bottle  of  alcohol 
filled  with  the  pure  grape  spirits  people  make 
here.  I  get  an  ohe  at  a  time  (a  quart  is  about 
four  cups,  is  n't  it  ?  Well,  an  ohe  is  about  five ) . 
I  have  a  basket  for  big  Jaffa  oranges  and  an- 
other for  mandarines. 

Socrates  interprets  well  when  we  go  shop- 
ping. He  is  certainly  a  handy  boy.  We  help 
him  with  his  lessons  sometimes.  When  he 
cleaned  our  room  the  first  Saturday,  he  asked 

[51 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

me  "to  arrange  all  those  funny  pretty  things," 
pointing  to  silver  toilet  articles,  "just  the  way 
you  want  them  kept."  When  it  was  done,  he 
spent  a  long  time  walking  slowly  around  the 
place.  He  memorized  my  arrangement,  and 
has  not  shpped  up  a  single  Saturday  since. 
When  we  take  a  horseback  ride  Saturday 
morning,  part  of  the  fun  of  that  ride  is  the 
thought  that  when  we  get  back  to  our 
rooms,  they  will  have  been  beautifully  cleaned 
and  everything  will  look  just  right  for  Sunday. 
On  the  outside  wall  of  our  bedroom,  directly 
behind  the  head  of  our  bed,  and  covering  the 
entire  space  between  two  windows,  is  a  very 
large  red  and  blue  kileem.  On  the  floor  are 
square  blue  rugs,  just  the  shade  to  make  Her- 
bert imagine  my  eyes  are  not  green.  On  one 
side  Mrs.  Christie  has  had  two  cedar  ward- 
robes built  in,  and  between  them  are  a  whole  lot 
of  drawers,  up  to  dressing-table  height.  Back 
of  the  door,  leading  from  the  bedroom  to  the 
study,  is  a  table  where  I  have  the  First  Aid 

[6] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

outfit  Dr.  Oliver  Smith  gave  me  for  my  wed- 
ding gift. 

Socrates  confided  in  me  that  he  wants  to  be  a 
doctor.  He  comes  from  a  Greek  village  in  the 
heart  of  the  silver  mine  district  of  the  Taurus. 
His  father  and  mother  died  during  an  epi- 
demic. He  tells  me  that  he  knew,  young  as  he 
was,  that  if  there  had  been  a  doctor  in  his  vil- 
lage, his  parents  might  not  have  died ;  and  that 
he  had  determined  then  to  be  a  doctor,  so  that 
other  little  boys  might  not  lose  their  parents. 

Doctor  Christie  told  the  boys  in  Chapel  one 
morning  that  when  they  got  hurt  they  could 
come  to  me  for  bandaging.  Herbert  teases  me 
about  the  miles  and  miles  of  bandages  in  my 
professional-looking  japanned  tin  box.  There 
is  a  wonderful  case  of  medicine.  Those  I  do 
not  know  how  to  use  I  have  put  away  up 
high  on  a  shelf  in  case  I  might  sometime  lend 
them  to  the  doctor.  The  things  I  know  how 
to  use  are  kept  in  first-class  order  by  Socrates. 
I  bought  a  little  white  enameled  basin  or  two 

[7] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

to  be  used  when  I  make  dressings.  For  six 
weeks  I  have  been  taking  care  of  an  ugly  open 
sore  on  the  leg  of  one  of  my  students.  It  is 
a  case  of  cotton  poisoning.  These  people  get 
cotton  poisoning  by  contact  with  the  plant  at 
picking-time.  I  never  heard  of  it  before,  but 
I  used  my  head,  cleaned  the  sore  with  camphe- 
nol,  and  have  dressed  it  with  camphenol-soaked 
bandages  twice  every  day.  I  was  rewarded 
after  a  week  in  seeing  the  wound  surrounded 
by  a  ring  of  nice  clean  flesh.  The  infected  part 
has  been  diminishing  in  size,  and  within  the 
past  few  days  is  completely  covered  with  a 
layer  of  new  skin.  I  am  proud  of  this :  for  the 
boy  could  not  walk  very  well  when  he  first  came 
to  me. 

Last  Sunday  Melanchthon,  a  kid  of  four- 
teen, nearly  amputated  his  finger  in  the  bread- 
cutter.  I  fixed  it  up  with  adhesive  tape 
stitches  placed  all  around  the  cut,  until  the  doc- 
tor could  get  back  from  some  distant  village 
to  sew  it.     Thank  Heaven,  Melanchthon  can 

[8] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

still  wiggle  his  finger  joint.  When  Socrates 
took  him  back  to  the  doraiitory  after  I  had 
dressed  his  finger  that  first  day,  the  little  fellow 
asked  if  he  could  go  to  see  the  lady  again. 
Socrates  explained  that  the  lady  had  said  he 
must  return  on  the  morrow  for  another  dress- 
ing. Melanchthon  was  pleased.  He  did  want 
to  see  the  pretty  room  again.  He  wondered  if 
Sultan  Abdul  Hamid  had  anything  so  fine  in 
Yildiz  Kiosk. 

Eflaton  (Armenian  for  Plato),  a  near- 
sighted chap  in  my  Sub-Freshman  class,  was 
working  with  a  bunch  of  boys  at  the  corner  of 
the  yard,  where  a  wee  bit  of  wall  is  being  built. 
Some  day  there  may  be  money  to  put  the  wall 
all  around  the  college  property.  It  grows  al- 
most imperceptibly  as  gifts  for  that  purpose 
come  in.  They  are  few,  alas!  Just  a  tiny 
corner  is  finished.  The  boys  were  piling  stone, 
and  Eflaton  had  the  ill-luck  to  get  two  fingers 
of  his  right  hand  badly  crushed.  Again  the 
doctor  was  far  away,  and  I  did  my  best.     To- 

[9] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

day,  when  I  had  finished  Eflaton's  dressing, 
he  looked  up  at  me  with  those  dreamy  eyes  of 
his  and  announced,  "Mrs.  Gibbons,  you  are  a 
angel!"  When  I  protested  that  I  was  not  "a 
angel,"  he  agreed  with  me.  Because,  said  he, 
"You  are  better  than  that:  you  are  a  angel 
mother."  Oh,  these  honey-tongued  Orientals! 
They  beat  the  Irish. 

The  trip  planned  by  Henri  Imer  and  Her- 
bert to  Namroun  has  not  yet  come  off.  They 
intended  to  leave  towards  the  end  of  the  last 
week  of  October,  returning  the  following  Tues- 
day. Wives  were  to  take  their  classes.  Be- 
fore the  bad  weather  set  in,  we  were  anxious  to 
have  Henri  take  for  us  a  lot  of  photographs 
of  the  acropolis  and  castle  there.  All  plans 
were  made  to  go.  But  political  news  pre- 
vented their  leaving.  The  action  of  Bulgaria 
and  Austria  has  raised  a  ferment  throughout 
Turkey,  especially  in  these  parts,  where  there 
are  many  Armenian  Christians.  A  reaction- 
ary movement  is  feared.     The  Armenians  fear 

[10] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

that  the  Mohammedans  distrust  their  loyalty. 

The  fasting  month  of  Ramazan  ended  on 
October  twenty-fifth,  and  the  following  Mon- 
day the  great  Bairam  (feast)  began.  Lower- 
class  Mohammedans  generally  get  gloriously 
drunk  in  towns  on  this  day.  Occidental  Tur- 
kophiles  write  of  and  praise  Moslems  as  being 
the  original  White  Ribboners.  Perhaps  many 
are,  but  not  town  Turks,  who  consume  quanti- 
ties of  raki,  the  strongest  fire-water  man  ever 
invented.  During  this  Bairam  the  Armenians 
were  fearing  a  massacre.  The  Constitution 
has  lifted  the  prohibition  of  owning  firearms. 
We  hear  the  Armenians  have  been  buying  in 
large  quantities.  We  did  not  ourselves  antic- 
ipate trouble.  But  one  never  knows  in  this 
country.  It  was  best  for  Henri  and  Herbert 
not  to  go. 

I  am  soon  for  bed.  We  must  be  up  by  six. 
At  least  I  suppose  it  is  six.  The  way  they 
tell  time  here  makes  me  dizzy.  So  many  hours 
since  sunrise,  they  say.     Or,  so  many  hours 

[11] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

since  sunset.  The  precise  minute  for  doing 
any  given  thing  must  be  worked  out  the  way 
they  make  a  time-table  at  the  sea-shore,  to  show 
you  when  to  take  your  swim.  The  mischief  of 
it  is,  of  course,  that  the  time-table  varies  each 
day.  The  night  we  arrived  in  Tarsus,  after 
our  weeks  of  camping  in  the  Taurus,  we  rode 
our  tired  horses  under  the  arch  of  the  college 
gate  at  ten  p.m.  The  silly  clock  in  a  tower 
near  by  was  striking  four. 

I  am  not  sure  whether  the  East  or  the  West 
knows  the  philosophical  way  to  tell  time.  Per- 
haps Western  reckoning  tends  to  be  too  pre- 
cise, and  Greenwich  time  is  contrary  to  na- 
ture. Anyhow,  the  Eastern  way  would  make 
an  efficiency  expert's  work-schedule  look  like 
a  cinema  film  run  by  a  greenhorn.  Perhaps 
these  Eastern  peoples  who  dream  dreams  and 
feed  their  souls  on  starlight  must  map  out  their 
day  by  the  going  of  the  sun. 


[12] 


THREE  CHRISTMASES  AND 
THE  SEVEN  SLEEPERS 

Tarsus, 

December  twenty-fifth. 
Dearest  Mother  : 

College  classes  going  at  full  swing  to-day. 
It  is  not  Clmstmas  for  the  boys.  Some  of  the 
early  missionaries  to  Turkey  had  it  in  their 
noddle  that  December  twenty-fifth  was  really 
the  day  Christ  was  born,  and  they  were  shocked 
to  see  the  Greeks  celebrating  January  sixth 
and  the  Armenians  January  nineteenth.  Mis- 
sionaries were  unimaginative,  too,  wrapped  up 
in  their  own  narrow  ideas,  too  sure  they  were 
right  and  all  the  rest  of  mankind  wrong  (else 
why  had  they  sacrificed  everything  to  come 
way  out  here?)  to  realize  that  the  Eastern  cal- 
endar is  thirteen  days  behind  ours. 

The  missionaries  could  n't  call  the  Greek 
[13] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

aberration  a  sin.  They  could  not  logically 
hold  out  for  a  calendar  made  in  Rome!  But 
they  did  get  after  their  Armenian  converts  on 
the  theological  question,  and  for  many  years 
insisted  on  an  American  celebration.  Absurdi- 
ties like  that  have  now  happily  passed  in  mis- 
sionary work,  and  your  missionary  of  to-day  is 
better  able  to  distinguish  between  essentials 
and  non-essentials  than  the  old-fashioned  Puri- 
tans, who  were  every  bit  as  bigoted  as  medieval 
Catholics. 

But  I  am  getting  away  from  Christmas  in 
Asia!  Herbert  and  I  taught  our  classes  this 
morning  as  usual.  We  are  going  to  celebrate 
to-night.  We  have  a  turkey  roasting,  and 
there  is  a  jar  of  cranberry  sauce  that  did  not 
arrive  in  time  for  Thanksgiving.  I  have  just 
come  from  the  kitchen,  flushed  with  the  stove 
and  the  triumph  of  having  really  succeeded  in 
doing  the  trick  I  learned  at  Simmons  College 
last  year.  My  fruits  and  nuts  are  genuinely 
glaced, 

[14] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

If  I  haven't  lived  up  to  Simmons  College 
cookery,  Mother,  I  've  made  some  use  of  Bryn 
Mawr.  Herbert's  schedule  is  twenty-five 
hours  a  week.  What  time  was  there  left  for 
private  study?  To  take  advantage  of  next 
year  in  Paris,  he  simply  must  do  some  ground- 
work on  his  fellowship  thesis.  So  I  have  taken 
over  ten  of  his  hours — the  two  English  courses : 
preparatory  boys  learning  the  first  rudi- 
ments of  our  language,  and — joy  of  joys! — his 
Sub-Freshman  class.  They  know  pretty  well 
how  to  speak  and  write  English,  so  I  am  giving 
them  rhetoric — and  incidentally  I  am  getting 
myself  more  than  I  give.  One  has  to  teach  to 
learn ! 

I  have  kidnapped  that  Sub-Freshman  class, 
and  Herbert  will  not  get  them  back.  I  may 
grow  weary  of  beginners'  English,  and  find 
some  excuse  for  putting  the  beginners  again  on 
Herbert's  schedule.  But  the  Sub-Freshmen 
give  me  a  splendid  chance  for  letting  loose  my 
theories  on  helpless  beings,  and  I  confess  that  I 

[15] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

am  vain — or  is  conceited  the  word  ? — enough  to 
like  the  sensation  of  handing  out  knowledge  ex 
cathedra. 

I  am  teaching  the  boys  how  to  plan  and  con- 
struct an  essay.  Many  of  my  teachers  thought 
they  had  finished  their  work  when  they  had 
given  us  a  subject  and  corrected  the  essay.  Not 
so  Mrs.  G.  We  began  with  words.  Then  came 
the  sentences.  Then  separate  and  related  par- 
agraphs. We  keep  juggling  with  the  princi- 
ples of  unitj^  clearness,  and  force.  Once  a 
week  we  do  a  formal  essay.  I  do  not  simply 
announce  my  subject  and  leave  my  struggling 
boy  to  evolve  an  atrocious  piece  of  writing. 
No.  I  write  the  subject  on  the  board.  Then 
call  for  concisely  stated  facts  about  it.  These 
facts  are  numbered  and  copied  by  the  boys. 
When  we  have  about  twenty  facts,  we  indicate 
roughly  possible  combinations.  The  boys  have 
a  clear  idea  of  the  difference  between  a  Subject 
and  a  Theme.  We  have  forged  ahead  a  bit 
into  the  study  of  the  figure  of  speech  (Mejaz, 

[16] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

as  it  is  called  in  Turkish).  This  appeals 
deeply,  because  Orientals  see  and  think  and 
speak  in  figm-es.     They  are  poets. 

I  had  a  whole  week  of  lectures  on  figures, 
and  now  the  boys  are  learning  the  way  to  make 
and  recognize  the  different  ones.  This  ha.s 
been  done  entirely  without  a  text-book.  I 
found  early  in  the  game  that  the  boys  could 
memorize  rapidly.  Put  this  with  the  fact  that 
they  think  excellence  in  scholarship  consists  in 
giving  you  back  again  what  you  said.  I  re- 
versed the  old-fashioned  way  of  clearing  the 
decks  for  action  by  lining  up  a  lot  of  stupid 
and  meaningless  definitions.  Absorb  informa- 
tion first,  I  say ;  handle  it,  get  acquainted  with 
it,  digest  it — then,  with  a  background  of  expe- 
rience, classify  your  ideas  and  concentrate  them 
into  definitions. 

Later 

You  lost  the  chance  of  your  lifetime.  Mother. 
I  broke  off  suddenly  the  learned  lecture  on 
rhetoric.     Henri  Imer  and  Herbert  were  com- 

[17] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

ing  in  from  their  ride,  and  I  had  hterally  to 
jump  down  the  stairs  to  get  the  glace  fruits 
out  of  the  way  in  the  kitchen  before  Herbert 
would  burst  in  and  find  them  there,  spread  out 
all  over  the  room  on  buttered  paper.  We  are  a 
big  family,  and  I  made  a  lot. 

I  am  thinking  of  my  Christmases.  This  is 
the  first  I  have  ever  spent  away  from  you. 

Tarsus,  January  eighth, 
Ninete  en-Nine. 

It  is  n't  because  my  husband  is  brand-new, 
or  that  we  are  living  what  is  supposed  to  be 
"that  difficult  first  year"  that  I  object  to  sepa- 
rations. If  this  first  year  is  difficult,  come  on 
the  rest  of  the  years,  I  say.  But  I  already 
know,  from  our  engagement  days,  what  sepa- 
rations mean.  Still,  I  saw  quite  distinctly, 
when  Herbert's  father  sent  him  a  check  to  go 
to  the  Holy  Land,  that  he  ought  not  to  miss 
the  chance.  We  may  not  get  out  this  way 
again.     I  put  it  to  myself:  it  will  be  a  glorious 

[18] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

thing  to  have  done!  So  I  told  him  he  must 
seize  the  day.  I  could  not  accompany  him  for  a 
reason  that  you  may  guess.  I  have  not  told  you 
before :  one  does  n't  always  know  one's  self. 

Our  holidays  and  examinations  are  arranged 
according  to  the  Oriental  Christmases.  So 
they  come  in  January  to  take  in  the  period 
from  the  sixth  to  the  nineteenth.  It  is  n't  a 
long  time  for  a  trip :  but  the  Holy  Land  is  not 
far  away.  Herbert  started  off  two  days  ago 
on  the  Greek  Christmas,  and  I  took  Socrates 
down  to  Mersina  with  me  to  see  him  off.  Be- 
ing Socrates'  Christmas,  we  could  avoid  our 
own  lack  of  gaiety  in  the  last  meal  by  blowing 
him  to  a  big  dinner  at  the  hotel. 

You  ought  to  have  seen  Herbert  embarking 
for  Syria,  with  Mr.  Gould,  an  Englishman  on 
our  faculty,  and  half  a  dozen  boys  who  live  at 
Alexandretta,  the  next  port — near  enough  and 
cheap  enough  to  go  home  for  the  holidays. 
Mr.  G.  and  Herbert  took  deck  passage  with 
the  boys.     It  is  January,  with  snow  on  the 

[19] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Taurus  and  cold  winds  on  the  Plain,  but  the 
Mediterranean  blew  hot  on  the  day  they  left, 
and  they  could  change  to  a  cabin  the  next  day, 
if  it  was  too  cold  to  spend  the  second  night  to 
Jaffa  on  deck.  Herbert  wore  an  old  suit  that 
we  intended  to  throw  away,  and  a  black  fez. 
With  the  beard  he  has  grown  to  make  him  look 
older  in  the  classroom,  he  is  for  all  the  world 
like  a  Russian  pilgrim. 

Herbert  is  to  be  gone  two  weeks.  Work  is 
an  antidote  for  the  "mopes."  I  tell  myself  that 
he  may  be  delayed  in  retm*ning,  and  that  I 
may  have  to  tide  over  the  first  few  days  of  the 
new  term.  So  I  am  working  up  psychology 
lectures.  I  chew  over  a  phrase  like  William 
James's  "states  of  consciousness  as  such"  until 
I  fall  asleep.  I  have  to  begin  all  over  again 
the  next  morning,  for  I  cannot  remember  what 
he  means  by  "as  such." 

Dr.  Christie  knows  how  to  handle  women  to 
perfection.  We  are  a  small  circle,  and  he  says 
that  wives  must  share  in  the  faculty  meetings. 

[20] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

He  declares  that  he  wants  our  opinion  and  our 
advice,  and  that  "the  very  best  example  set 
to  the  Orientals  is  to  show^  them  how  we  respect 
and  defer  to  our  women."  But  I  know  this 
is  only  half  the  truth.  He  takes  us  in,  so  that 
we  won't  be  able  to  criticize  decisions  in  which 
we  had  no  part.  I  knit  in  faculty  meetings. 
My  college  education  never  destroyed  the 
woman's  instinct  to  have  hands  constantly  oc- 
cupied. Only,  I  sometimes  forget  and  go 
ahead  at  my  knitting  mechanically.  The  first 
baby-band  I  made  in  faculty  meeting  was  big 
enough  to  go  around  Herbert.  So  I  called  it 
a  cholera  belt  and  gave  it  to  him.  Orientals 
love  to  talk  and  talk  and  talk  and  talk.  So  do 
Occidentals.  And  in  faculty  meetings  I  have 
discovered  that  men  are  not  a  bit  less  garrulous 
than  women.  Since  I  committed  matrimony 
I  've  found  to  my  surprise  that  the  other  sex 
has  very  much  the  same  failings  as  mine.  This 
comes  out  in  faculty  meetings.  I  bet  I  'd  find 
the  same  thing  in  corporation  board  meetings. 

[21] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Every  one  loves  to  talk,  listens  impatiently  to 
others  when  they  talk,  watches  for  an  oppor- 
tunity to  get  another  word,  and  gives  in 
through  weariness  or  indifference  rather  than 
through  conviction.  The  best  talker  has  it 
over  the  best  thinker  every  time. 


Mersina,  Janu<iry  eighteenth. 
I  have  written  you  about  the  Doughty- Wy- 
lies,  how  they  stopped  for  lunch  with  us  in 
Tarsus  on  their  way  from  Konia,  the  summer 
British  Consulate,  to  the  winter  Consulate  at 
Mersina,  and  what  joy  it  was  for  us  to  meet 
them.  A  few  days  later,  a  letter  came  with 
the  inscription  "For  the  Youngest  Bride  at 
St.  Paul's  College."  It  was  a  week-end  invi- 
tation for  Herbert  and  me.  We  went  down 
to  Mersina  the  very  next  Saturday.  That  was 
in  October.  Since  then,  week-ends  with  the 
Doughty- Wylies  have  been  in  a  certain  sense 
oases — you  understand  what  I  mean.  The 
British  Consulate  means  that  world  of  ours 

[22] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

which  seems  far  away,  and  is  missed  occasion- 
ally in  spite  of  the  novelty  of  Tarsus  life  and 
the  cordiality  of  the  missionaries.  At  the 
Dougty-Wylies,  I  am  able  to  dress  in  the  even- 
ing, and  Herbert  always  looks  best  to  me  in 
his  dinner-coat.  We  are  miconventional  until 
we  get  back  into  convention:  then  we  wonder 
how  and  why  we  ever  broke  loose. 

With  tea  served  when  you  wake  up,  ten 
o'clock  help-yourself-when-you-want  break- 
fasts, a  morning  canter,  siesta  after  lunch,  and 
whiskey-and-soda  and  smokes  in  the  evening — 
we  are  thirty  miles  only  from  Tarsus,  and  yet 
three  thousand.  We  are  back  in  an  English 
country  home.  We  can  smell  the  box  and  feel 
the  cold  and  fear  the  rain — so  strong  is  the  in- 
fluence of  the  interior — until  we  step  out-of- 
doors  into  the  sunshine  that  makes  us  thankful, 
after  all,  that  "back  in  England"  was  only  a 
dream. 

The  Major  is  still  in  his  thirties  but  has  had 
a  whole  lifetime  of  adventure  crowded  into  fif- 

[23] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

teen  years  of  active  service  in  India,  Somali- 
land,  Egypt,  and  South  Africa.  He  has  not 
been  robust  of  late,  and  was  given  this  consular 
post  temporarily.  Intends  to  return  to  active 
army  service.  Mrs.  Doughty- Wylie  is  a  little 
woman  full  of  life  and  spirits.  She  loves  nurs- 
ing— has  been  after  the  bubonic  plague  in  In- 
dia and  followed  the  British  army  in  the  Boer 
War.  Frank  and  outspoken,  you  never  know 
what  she  is  going  to  say  next.  She  is  as  ve- 
hement as  the  Major  is  mild,  as  bubbling  over 
as  he  is  cool,  as  Scotch  as  he  is  English.  They 
are  lovely  to  us,  and  as  they  have  taken  on  with 
travel  a  sense  of  humor,  we  have  great  ses- 
sions, sitting  around  a  log'-fire  until  all  hours 
of  the  night.  The  Major  is  keen  on  the  Seljuk 
Turks.  He  is  going  to  wean  Herbert  away 
from  French  to  Ottoman  history,  I  think. 
Plays  up  the  possibilities  of  the  field  for  re- 
search in  glowing  terms. 

You  can  imagine  how  I  whooped  when  INIrs. 
Doughty- Wylie  wrote  just  after  Herbert  left 

[24] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

that  I  "really  must  spend  the  time  your  hus- 
band is  away  with  us."  Socrates  was  brush- 
ing and  cleaning  Herbert's  clothes,  and  an 
iron  was  on  to  press  the  trousers.  I  left  them 
hanging  on  the  line,  with  caution  to  Socrates 
to  be  sure  to  take  them  in  that  night.  Suit- 
cases were  quickl}'"  packed.  I  took  the  next 
train  to  Mersina.  Would  n't  you  have  done  so 
to  be  able  to  wake  the  next  morning  at  nine, 
and  have  a  maid  push  back  the  curtains  while 
3''ou  sipped  tea  and  munched  thin  toast? 
Then,  too,  I  hated  everything  about  our  quar- 
ters at  Tarsus,  cozy  as  they  were,  with  Herbert 
away. 

After  a  week  of  a  lazy,  restful  relaxing,  just 
as  I  was  beginning  to  fell  in  the  frame  of 
mind  to  wonder  how  we  ever  happened  to  get 
out  into  this  country  and  to  feel  sure  that  we 
would  never  come  back,  and  when  I  was  specu- 
lating on  the  mysterious  phenomenon  of  the 
best  of  England's  blood  content  always  to  live 
away  from  home,  Herbert  returned.  I  woke 
.       [25] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

up  one  morning,  and  there  he  stood  in  the  room, 
looking  down  at  me.  He  declared  that  ten 
days  in  the  Holy  Land — without  me — was 
enough  for  him.  He  had  "done"  Jerusalem 
and  bathed  in  the  Dead  Sea — but  Galilee  could 
wait  for  another  time.  There  was  a  swift  Ital- 
ian steamer  up  the  coast.  He  saw  it  posted  at 
Cook's  in  Jerusalem.  Hurried  down  to  Jaffa 
and  caught  it.  We  have  decided  that  separa- 
tions are  not  a  success.  May  there  be  no  more. 
As  we  do  not  have  to  go  back  to  Tarsus  for 
two  days,  we  are  staying  on  to  pass  Armenian 
Christmas  with  the  Doughty- Wylies.  They 
are  going  to  take  us  pig- sticking  to-morrow. 

Tarsus, 

January  twenty-second. 
To-day  we  rode  across  the  Plain  to  the  Cave 
of  the  Seven  Sleepers. 

I  enjoy  "training  the  Turks."  They  let 
their  wives  walk  while  they  ride.  Sometimes 
the  poor  woman  will  have  a  child  or  some  other 

[26] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

load  on  her  back.  You  can  imagine  they  do 
not  turn  aside  to  give  a  woman  the  path,  not 
even  a  foreign  lady.  Sometimes  I  jar  their 
sensibilities  by  standing  my  horse  sturdily  in 
their  path.  It  never  enters  their  head  that  I 
do  not  intend  to  turn  out.  When  I  rein  up 
with  the  nose  of  my  horse  right  in  their  face 
(they  are  generally  on  little  donkeys)  they 
have  an  awful  shock.  Reluctantly  they  give 
way  to  me,  always  looking  injured  and  sur- 
prised. Sometimes  they  express  their  feeling 
in  language  that  I  fortunately  cannot  under- 
stand. I  love  to  speak  to  them  in  English. 
I  say  something  like  this:  "You  old  un- 
washed villain,  I  am  sure  you  have  n't  used 
Pears'  or  any  other  soap  this  or  any  other 
morning.  Hurry  up,  and  get  out  of  my  way." 
We  came  across  a  donkey  standing  patiently 
by  the  roadside.  His  halter-rope  was  tied 
around  the  leg  of  his  rider,  a  boy  who  lay  moan- 
ing on  the  grass.  We  had  Socrates  ask  him 
in   Turkish   what   the   matter   was.     He   re- 

[27] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

sponded  that  he  had  a  fever  and  was  too  ill  to 
go  on.  Herbert  told  Socrates  to  set  the  boy 
on  his  donkey.  He  went  several  miles  with 
us,  groaning  all  the  way.  We  encouraged  him, 
and  fortunately  soon  met  some  people  from  his 
village.  The  Turks  are  absolutely  indiffer- 
ent to  human  suffering,  and  would  have  let  him 
die  there  like  a  dog.  Outside  of  large  centers 
of  population,  they  have  no  physicians,  no  hos- 
pitals, no  medicines — it  is  only  through  the 
missionaries  that  such  things  are  known  at  all. 
At  last  we  reached  our  mountain-goal,  and 
climbed  up  to  the  cave.  The  Mullah  received 
us  cordially.  Turks  are  polite  and  hospitable 
to  travelers.  I  will  say  that  for  them.  The 
Mullah's  servant  stabled  our  horses,  brought 
us  water,  and  allowed  us  to  spread  our  lunch 
on  the  front  porch  of  the  mosque.  It  is  a 
pretty  little  mosque,  and  right  beside  it  is  a 
home  for  the  Mullah  built  of  stone.  Both  are 
close  to  the  entrance  of  the  cave.  The  group 
of  buildings  looked  beautiful  from  the  bottom 

[28] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

of  the  hill.  But  as  is  invariably  the  case  in 
Turkey,  close  inspection  revealed  the  primi- 
tiveness  and  roughness. 

After  lunch,  during  which  the  servant  and 
his  little  boy  gi'avely  sat  and  watched  us,  we 
went  into  the  cave.  We  took  our  shoes  off 
against  our  will,  for  the  cave  looked  dirty  and 
mussy.  Down  a  long  flight  of  stone  steps  the 
beturbaned  guardian  led  us  into  a  sickening  at- 
mosphere of  incense  and  goatskin.  We  were 
told  that  the  cave  was  large,  but,  as  we  were 
in  stocking  feet  and  had  noses,  we  elected  not 
to  explore  it.  During  the  Decian  persecu- 
tions, seven  young  men  fled  from  Tarsus  to 
this  cave  to  escape.  Here  they  fell  asleep. 
They  were  miraculously  kept  asleep  for  one 
hundred  years.  Waking  they  thought  it  was 
the  next  day,  and  went  down  to  a  nearby  vil- 
lage. They  were  surprised  to  learn  that  the 
whole  world  was  Christian.  This  is  the  gene- 
sis, or  at  least  the  Oriental  version,  of  the  Rip 
Van  Winkle  story.     The  Christians  built  a 

[29] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

shrine  at  the  cave.  The  invading  Mohamme- 
dan conquerors  took  it  over  and  adapted  shrine 
and  legend  to  their  own  rehgion,  as  they  have 
done  with  most  Christian  holy  places. 

We  sketched  the  mosque  in  the  afternoon. 
Then  we  sat  looking  out  over  the  plain  to  the 
sea.  It  is  great  to  have  a  chance  to  talk  to 
one's  husband.  We  are  so  busy  during  the 
week  that  we  save  up  our  talks  for  Saturday 
and  Sunday,  and  we  are  just  getting  to  know 
each  other.  The  keeper  told  us  through  Soc- 
rates that  his  wife  had  died  seven  years  be- 
fore and  that  he  lived  there  all  alone,  except 
for  the  Mullah,  with  his  little  five  year  old  boy. 
The  kid  sang  a  song  for  us.  We  gave  him 
slices  of  bread  thickly  spread  with  jam,  which 
he  ate  with  gusto.  It  was  probably  the  first 
jam  he  had  ever  tasted — certainly  the  first 
Crosse  &  Blackwell's  strawberry  jam.  After 
the  feast  was  over,  he  crept  up  slyly,  seized 
Herbert's  hand,  and  imprinted  on  it  a  sticky 
kiss.     We  were  saddled  and  ready  to  start 

[30] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

homeward  immediately  after  tea,  but  not  soon 
enough  to  get  away  from  the  hail-storm  that 
came  up  all  of  a  sudden.  Before  we  were  out 
of  the  stable,  the  storm  broke,  great  big  hail- 
stones that  stung  when  they  hit  you.  We  rode 
hard  for  twenty  minutes,  enjoying  it  keenly. 
It  rained  just  long  enough  to  make  the  sunset 
richer  and  the  air  sweeter  than  usual.  We  do 
not  mind  a  bit  getting  wet  like  that  when  we 
are  on  horse.  By  riding  fast,  the  wind  soon 
dries  our  outer  garments  and  the  rain  does  not 
penetrate.  By  the  time  we  reached  home, 
we  were  dry  and  did  not  need  to  change  our 
clothes  before  dinner.  After  our  exercise  a 
good  warm  bath  made  us  sleep  like  the  pair 
of  healthy  children  we  are. 


[31] 


A  VISIT  TO  ADANA 

Adanttj 
February  eighteenth. 
Dearest  Mother: 

You  know  how  I  love  week-end  visits.  I 
used  to  put  Uncle  John's  Christmas  check  into 
a  hundred- trip  ticket  between  Bryn  Mawr  and 
Philadelphia :  so  that  if  my  allowance  ran  low 
I  could  get  away  from  college  over  Sunday 
anyway. 

Week-end  visits  here  are  really  not  had  at 
all.  There  is  no  hotel  in  this  town.  Char- 
acteristically, Daddy  Christie  has  the  office 
force  at  the  station  pilot  foreigners  coming  to 
Tarsus  straight  to  St.  Paul's  College,  no  mat- 
ter what  orders  they  gave.  A  variety  of  folks 
wash  up  on  our  beach.  A  dignified  professor 
with  a  little  group  of  Oxford  men  bound 

[32] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

for  the  interior  to  prove  on  the  ground  that 
there  are  villages  back  in  the  Taurus  where 
ancient  Greek  persists  unadulterated  to  this 
day,  came  back  a  few  weeks  later,  faces  beam- 
ing with  the  grin  research  scholars  wear  when 
they  have  it  on  the  other  authorities.  Another 
group  of  men  said  they  were  travelers.  Amer- 
icans of  the  Far  West  they  certainly  were. 
We  couldn't  make  out  much  else  at  first. 
Their  leader  sat  next  to  me  at  lunch,  and  was 
so  extraordinarily  reticent,  when,  in  trying  to 
make  conversation,  I  asked  him  about  his  fam- 
ily, that  I  commented  upon  it  afterwards  to 
Herbert  and  Dr.  Christie.  Later  we  learned 
that  they  were  Mormon  missionaries.  Dear 
Dr.  Deissmann,  with  others  from  the  Univer- 
sity of  Berlin,  spent  two  days  with  us  on  their 
journey  in  the  footsteps  of  Saint  Paul.  He 
is  gathering  material  for  a  book  that  will  make 
a  stir  in  the  world.  He  spoke  before  the  boys, 
in  excellent  English — what  linguists  Germans 
are ! — and  the  college  orchestra  responded  with 

[33] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Die  WacTit  am  Rliein.  It  was  a  nohle  effort, 
and  the  Herr  Professor  was  good  enough  to 
beam  and  applaud. 

Week-ends  would  indeed  be  dull  were  it  not 
for  visits  exchanged  up  and  down  the  railway 
by  missionaries  in  Mersina,  Tarsus  and  Adana. 
A  new  person  at  any  of  the  three  stations  is 
very  soon  invited  to  make  week-end  visits. 
Early  in  the  autumn,  Miss  X  arrived  at  Adana. 
When  she  made  her  first  visit  to  Tarsus,  Her- 
bert and  I  invited  her  to  have  coffee  in  our 
study  one  Saturday  evening.  Kind  of  cosy, 
sitting  in  front  of  our  fire,  and  she  loosened 
up  and  told  us  that  there  was  just  one  thing 
that  troubled  her  in  Adana.  That  was  the 
Swiss  teacher  of  French  at  the  Girls'  Board- 
ing School,  who  said  she  was  much  relieved  to 
find  that  the  new-comer  understood  a  little 
French,  "Because,  my  dear,  it  is  important  for 
me  to  safeguard  my  English.  You  see  I  can- 
not risk  catching  your  American  accent." 

Mother,  I  was  mad  as  a  hornet,  and  what 
[34] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

I  did  proves  that  I  am  no  good  as  a  missionaiy. 
We  told  Miss  X  that  when  this  petty  persecu- 
tion was  being  carried  on,  she  was  to  be  Hke 
B'rer  Rabbit,  and  "jes'  keep  on  sayin'  nothin'." 
When  the  Swiss  teacher  came  for  a  week-end, 
we  invited  her  for  coffee.  As  she  settled  her- 
self before  our  fire,  she  said  engagingly: 
"Now  you  must  speak  French  with  me.  Take 
every  chance  you  can  for  practice."  "Thank 
you,  Mademoiselle,"  I  answered,  "we  should 
rather  speak  English.  We  are  going  to  live 
in  Paris,  you  know,  and  don't  dare  risk  catch- 
ing your  Swiss  accent."  No,  Mother  dear, 
that  wasn't  like  a  missionary,  was  it?  I  am 
not  sorry  I  said  it.  When  I  went  to  Adana, 
Miss  X  told  me  that  the  teasing  had  suddenly 
ceased  after  Mademoiselle's  Tarsus  visit. 

Mrs.  Nesbit  Chambers  invited  me  to  spend  a 
whole  week  with  her.  Herbert  was  to  come 
over  the  following  Sunday  to  bring  me  home. 
The  train  conductor  who  speaks  passable 
French  gave  up  to  me  his  own  private  compart- 

[35] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

ment.  Some  weeks  since,  I  should  have  been 
aghast  at  the  thought  of  going  off  all  alone 
in  Turkey  and  in  Asia  on  such  a  queer  train, 
with  outlandish  fellow  travelers,  to  a  place 
where  I  had  never  been.  But  things  become 
familiar  to  one  in  a  very  short  time.  It  seemed 
almost  as  natural  as  South  Station,  Broad 
Street,  Grand  Central,  Trenton,  Princeton, 
New  Haven,  Annapohs  or  Brjm  Mawr — a 
year  ago  my  whole  world. 

After  the  train  pulled  out  of  Tarsus,  I  felt 
that  I  had  my  nerve  with  me.  But  I  was  too 
interested  in  what  I  saw  from  the  window  to 
occupy  my  mind  regretting  that  I  had  not 
waited  until  Herbert  could  come  with  me.  The 
uncle  of  Krikor  Effendi's  bride  (I  mean  the 
conductor)  was  most  pohte,  and  left  me  alone 
in  his  reserved  compartment.  At  the  first  sta- 
tion an  old  brigand  got  off  with  a  brilliant  red 
tangled  rug  on  his  shoulder.  I  recognized  it 
as  the  Cretan  rug  we  had  been  bargaining  for. 
Evidently  he  had  not  been  able  to  get  his  price 

[361 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

in  Tarsus.  A  Turk  on  horse  came  up  to  meet 
the  train.  The  horse  jumped  around  so  that 
his  saddle  turned.  The  man  fell  off  safely,  but 
his  friends  were  still  struggling  to  turn  the 
saddle  straight  when  we  tooted  on.  At  an- 
other station,  a  shiny  tinned  trunk,  just  like 
a  big  doll's  trunk  made  in  Germany,  was 
dumped  off.  Two  husky  Kurds  picked  it  up, 
and  carried  it  to  a  turbaned  Hodja  on  a  tall 
white  horse,  who  put  the  trunk  in  front  of 
him  on  the  saddle,  and  started  off  at  a  run 
across  the  plain.  After  an  hour  I  became 
cold,  and  was  glad  I  had  my  steamer  rug. 

At  Adana,  a  polite  individual  asked  me 
whether  he  could  find  a  carriage  for  me.  I 
told  him  Mrs.  Chambers  would  come.  He  said 
to  wait  right  there.  I  stood  on  the  platform 
in  the  midst  of  the  most  variegated  crowd  I 
had  ever  seen — even  in  the  Tarsus  bazaars. 
The  whole  town  was  either  getting  off  the  train 
or  had  come  to  meet  friends.  Some  day  the 
Bagdad  Railway  will  go  on  from  here.     But 

[37] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

now  this  is  the  terminus  of  the  line  from  Mer- 
sina,  and  there  is  none  yet  across  the  Taurus  to 
Konia. 

I  was  glad  to  see  Mrs.  Chambers  coming. 
We  rode  up  to  her  house  in  an  open  carriage. 
I  did  not  want  the  top  up,  in  spite  of  the  cold. 
It  was  all  so  new  and  strange  to  me.  The 
arahadjis  (drivers)  in  Turkey  are  sons  of  Jehu. 
Carriages  are  the  only  things  I  have  found  yet 
that  move  fast.  You  cannot  help  being  nerv- 
ous about  running  people  down.  It  never  hap- 
pens, though. 

When  I  was  once  indoors  I  had  no  desire 
to  take  off  my  sweater  or  my  long  coat.  My 
nose  and  ears  were  as  numb  as  fingers  and 
toes.  Mrs.  Chambers  gave  me  two  cups  of  hot 
tea  and  I  felt  better.  She  took  me  into  her 
guest  room,  and  cautioned  me  to  be  careful 
about  the  bedspread.  "I  keep  it  for  special 
people,"  she  explained,  "like  the  British  Con- 
sul's wife  and  you.  But  that  is  no  reason  why 
either  of  you  should  fail  to  be  careful  of  it,  for 

[38] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

it  is  the  best  thing  I  have."  The  crockery 
washstand  took  my  eye.  It  was  dark  green 
from  basin  to  tooth-mug. 

Dm'ing  the  few  minutes  before  supper  we 
chmbed  up  on  the  roof  for  the  red  winter  sun- 
set. The  Chamberses  hve  in  the  heart  of  the 
Armenian  quarter  on  the  top  of  the  hill.  Quite 
a  change  after  flat  Tarsus.  The  Armenians 
have  to  go  to  the  river  to  get  their  water. 
What  a  back-breaking  job  for  the  women! 
They  carry  tall  jars  on  their  shoulders.  We 
could  see  the  mountains  behind  Alexandretta 
in  Syria  very  plainly.  There  was  snow  on  the 
summits. 

Adana, 
February  twenty-second. 
The  Girls'  School  of  the  Mission  is  run  by 
women-folks.  I  went  over  there  for  a  meal, 
and  had  a  look  at  the  teachers  and  the  pupils. 
When  I  saw  the  girls  all  collected  in  the  school- 
room, they  seemed  to  me  infinitely  pathetic. 

[39] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

They  are  mostly  Armenians.  In  spite  of  the 
curves  and  glow  and  bloom  of  their  youth,  they 
look  like  little  women.  Perhaps  it  is  because 
of  the  sadness  that  Im'ks  in  their  eyes.  What 
chance  have  girls  in  this  country  anyway? 
Ought  we  not  to  wait  until  the  country  is 
changed  politically  before  we  bring  them  up  to 
live  in  our  sort  of  a  world? 

In  Tarsus  the  houses  are  mostly  of  stone, 
because  the  moderns  have  used  the  remains 
right  at  hand  for  successive  rebuilding  through 
centuries.  The  ancient  city,  in  Roman  Im- 
perial days,  was  so  large  that  it  is  an  inex- 
haustible quarry.  Modern  Adana,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  much  larger  than  the  ancient  city, 
and  Roman  stone  gave  out  long  ago.  You 
never  hear  of  the  Turks  going  to  the  trouble 
of  stone-cutting.  Where  they  are  not  able 
to  utilize  the  labor  of  past  ages,  they  build  for 
the  day.  Consequently,  Adana  is  a  city  of 
wood,  totally  unlike  Tarsus.  This,  with  the 
hill,  and  the  big  river  right  in  the  town,  makes 

[40] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Adana  more  picturesque.  The  background  of 
mountains  and  rich  plain  is  the  same,  however. 
Turkish  wooden  houses  are  built  haphazard, 
with  no  idea  of  architecture,  and  they  are  never 
repaired.  All  except  the  new  ones  look  as  if 
they  were  just  about  to  fall  down.  Many  are 
falling  down.  Holes  are  patched  with  new 
boards  or  more  frequently  with  flattened-out 
petroleum  tins.  Balconies  are  stayed  with 
props.  When  the  inevitable  day  of  collapse 
arrives,  the  Turks  thank  Allah  that  the  catas- 
trophe did  not  happen  sooner,  and  praise  Al- 
lah's mercy  in  giving  them  firewood  for  next 
winter.  A  mass  of  wooden  houses  in  Turkey 
makes  an  ensemble  of  brown,  of  different 
shades,  depending  upon  the  age  of  the  house. 
The  Turks  do  not  paint :  for  they  calculate  that 
a  house  will  last  at  least  as  long  as  the  man 
who  built  it.  The  next  generation  can  look 
after  itself. 

Oriental  houses  are  reticent,  like  the  women 
who  live  in  them.     They  are  meant  for  ani- 

[41] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

mals  and  women,  the  animals  on  the  ground 
floor  and  the  women  upstairs — both  created 
and  kept  in  captivity  to  work  for  man.  You 
can  tell  a  Christian  from  a  Moslem  house  from 
the  fact  that  the  Moslems  put  lattice-work  over 
the  windows.  Otherwise  they  are  the  same. 
While  Christians  do  not  seclude  their  women, 
they  have  nearly  the  same  ideas  about  making 
them  work. 

Miss  Hallie  Wallis  has  her  home  and  dis- 
pensary near  the  Girls'  School,  in  a  house  built 
with  a  blind  wall  toward  the  street,  and  win- 
dows opening  only  on  the  court.  Within  the 
court  an  outside  stairway,  mounting  to  the  bal- 
cony, leads  to  the  living  part  of  the  house. 
When  I  went  to  call,  I  got  into  the  hospital 
side.  Miss  Wallis  popped  out  of  her  office  to 
receive  me  and  led  me  into  a  waiting-room 
which,  although  furnished  only  with  a  few  car- 
pets and  divans  sporting  wide-meshed  native 
crochet  tidies,  was  cozy.  At  the  door  were 
the  patients'  wooden  clogs.     In  one  corner  a 

[42] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

soft-voiced  Armenian  Bible  woman  was  talk- 
ing with  an  elderly  blind  woman  and  a  little 
blind  boy.  These  people  were  in  their  stock- 
ing feet,  and  although  I  knew  it  was  the  native 
custom,  I  felt  that  they  had  left  their  clogs 
at  the  door  out  of  respect  to  Miss  Hallie's  spot- 
less rooms.  Miss  Wallis  gently  divined  fa- 
tigue that  I  did  n't  know  was  there.  In  a  few 
minutes,  although  it  was  mid-morning,  there 
was  a  steaming  cup  of  tea  and  the  paper-thin 
slices  of  bread  and  butter  that  can  be  made 
only  by  an  Englishwoman. 

The  Armenian  doctor  asked  me  to  take  a 
look  at  the  work.  He  gave  me  a  high  stool 
near  his  operating  table.  The  hours  of  the 
morning  flew  as  I  watched  the  tender  skilful 
handling  of  the  cases,  one  after  another.  This 
is  the  only  real  medical  care  the  people  of 
Adana  receive — and  it  is  a  city  of  sixty  thou- 
sand! I  saw  eighty-seven  people  come  and 
go.  Of  these  fifty-eight  were  eye  cases.  Miss 
Walhs  has  books  for  the  blind,  and  a  Bible 

[43] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

woman  who  does  nothing  else  but  read  to 
them.  She  is  a  thorough-going  saint,  this  Miss 
Wallis,  a  gentle,  tireless  saint.  How  many- 
women  there  are  in  the  world,  women  of  means, 
of  brains  and  position,  who,  in  unawakened 
stohdity,  hve  wasted  lives!  They  belong  to 
the  army  of  the  unemployed  just  as  much  as 
bums  and  hoboes.  Some  unmarried  women, 
middle-aged  ones,  feel  a  httle  bitter  as  they 
look  upon  their  married  sisters'  lives.  That  is 
because  they  are  not  working.  Here  is  a 
woman  who,  by  self-abnegation  and  glad  as- 
sumption of  responsibility,  has  the  richness  of 
life  and  the  wide  full  satisfaction  a  mother  feels 
in  doing  for  her  brood  of  children.  IMothers 
have  n't  really  a  corner  on  contentment  and 
blessedness.  The  most  common  examples  of 
unselfishness  and  happiness  that  we  see  about 
us  are  the  mothers.  But  there  is  opportunity 
for  all  women  to  become  happy  through  serv- 
ice, and  thus  taste  the  joy  of  motherhood. 
Think  of  the  many  unmothered  people  in  the 

[44] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

world,  both  kids  and  grown-ups,  that  cry  out 
for  woman-souls  to  shelter  and  minister  to 
them. 

When  we  finished  the  morning's  work  in  the 
clinic,  Miss  Wallis  went  with  me  to  lunch  at 
Mrs.  Chambers'.  As  we  walked  along  the 
street,  a  haggard  old  woman  stopped  us, 
clutching  at  a  fold  of  Miss  Wallis's  coat. 
"Please  tell  me,"  came  the  rapid  question, 
"why  you  are  so  happy?  I  have  seen  people 
who  looked  as  happy  as  you  do,  but  never  be- 
fore two  women  each  one  happier  than  the 
other.  Can  you  tell  me  why?  Are  j^ou  sis- 
ters?" "Yes,  yes,"  said  Miss  Wallis,  "we  are 
sisters.  God  is  love,  Madama  and  you  and  I 
are  his  children,  and  so  we  are  sisters."  Miss 
Wallis  stopped  right  there  to  explain  further. 
Before  we  went  on  our  way  the  old  woman 
heard  the  Good  News  the  missionaries  come 
here  to  tell,  and  she  hobbled  away  happy  be- 
cause she  was  a  sister  to  somebody  who  was 
happy. 

[45] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

I  fell  in  love  with  the  green  pitcher  and 
basin  in  my  bedroom.  Mrs.  Chambers  took 
me  to  the  pottery.  In  a  cellar,  without  much 
light,  the  potter  was  working  at  his  wheel.  He 
was  making  an  amphora  of  the  common  kind 
women  and  donkeys  carry  to  the  fountains. 
His  right  arm  was  inside  the  jar.  He  worked 
the  wheel  with  his  foot,  and  with  his  left  hand 
guided  the  rude  uneven  course  of  the  paddle- 
like affair  which  was  molding  a  lump  of  clay 
into  shape.  With  the  very  slightest  pressure, 
the  potter  was  able  to  change  radically  the  con- 
tour of  the  clay.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had 
ever  seen  the  Potter  and  the  Wheel.  I  un- 
derstood. 

In  the  courtyard  was  a  scrap  heap  piled  high 
with  all  sorts  of  broken  and  rain-soaked  bits  of 
discarded  vessels.  I  spotted  a  little  squat  vase, 
just  my  color  of  green.  You  know  the  soft 
shade  the  under  side  of  apple  leaves  take  on 
when  you  lie  in  a  hammock  under  the  apple- 
tree  and  half  close  your  eyes  as  you  look  up 

[46] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

at  the  sky  on  a  cloudy  day  in  spring.  Kick- 
ing aside  the  debris  with  my  foot,  I  pulled  out 
the  vase  by  its  uncovered  handle.  The  other 
handle  was  safe.  Rough  lines,  grooved  by  the 
potter's  will,  had  dried  into  the  lovely  thing 
before  it  was  polished,  and  the  glaze  added  by 
the  fire  must  have  been  weather-worn  in  this 
old  courtyard  for  more  years  than  I  am  old. 
There  was  a  slight  depression,  left  by  the  pot- 
ter's thumb,  on  the  bottom  of  the  vase.  A  po- 
lice magistrate  could  have  made  a  thumb-print 
from  it.  I  bought  the  vase  for  two  cents.  It 
is  my  most  precious  possession. 


[47] 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS 

Tarsus,  March  fifteenth, 
Ninete  en-Nine, 
Dearest  Mother: 

Do  you  remember  the  day  I  was  talking  to 
you  about  the  mother-in-law  problem  and  I 
said  I  was  put  to  it  to  know  what  to  call  her? 
You  said,  "Don't  worry,  it  won't  be  long  before 
you  have  somebody  to  whom  she  will  be 
grandma,  and  you  can  get  out  of  it  gracefully 
by  calling  her  grandma,  too."  Is  n't  it  queer 
to  think  that  I  through  my  motherhood  shall 
place  you  in  the  grandmother  generation?  As 
I  look  back  to  Cloverton  days  and  my  grand- 
mother, I  envy  this  baby  of  mine.  There  is 
something  about  a  grandmother  that  is  pretty 
fine.  They  thought  I  was  a  great  kid  at  grand- 
ma's house — partly  because  of  my  unshakable 

[48] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

belief  that  my  grandmother  was  beautiful. 
How  I  used  to  stand  beside  her  chair  stroking 
her  cheek,  telling  her,  "You  are  beautiful." 
She  used  to  smile  with  her  eyes  while  her  lips 
protested,  saying,  "How  can  I  be  beautiful 
with  all  my  wrinkles?"  I  suppose  it  was  the 
Irish  coming  out  in  me:  for  I  remember  dis- 
tinctly telling  her  that  she  had  no  wrinkles, 
except  pretty  laugh  wrinkles  on  both  sides  of 
her  eyes. 

Don't  hug  secret  reflections  about  growing 
old.  When  you  and  I  and  the  grandbaby  meet 
IT  will  be  Helen's  responsibility.  You  will  be 
free  to  play  with  the  baby.  That  has  not  hap- 
pened to  you  since  you  were  a  little  girl  and  had 
dolls.  I  shall  say:  "Oh,  Mother  is  there,  so 
baby  is  safe."  The  meeting  of  the  three  gen- 
erations will  eliminate  worry.  Nature  means 
young  fathers  and  mothers  and  babies  to  have 
grandmother  near.  You  must  come  to  Paris 
next  winter. 

You  have  made  a  jolly  start  in  grandmoth- 
[49] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

erhood.  It  was  better  than  Christmas,  when 
Daddy  Christie  and  Herbert  opened  your  box. 
I  have  my  small  steamer  trunk  right  beside  our 
wardrobe,  and  am  playing  it  is  the  baby 
hamper.  The  trunk  is  nearly  brand  new,  and 
will  do  very  well  when  we  leave  here  in  June, 
for  it  will  hold  all  the  baby  things. 

A  perfume  can  whisk  your  mind  five  thou- 
sand miles  from  your  body.  I  am  sitting  be- 
side our  white  iron  bed,  sniffing.  There  is  the 
faint  unfamiliar  odor  given  out  by  my  cedar 
woodwork,  the  smell  of  fresh  whitewash  on  new 
walls,  the  warm  breath  of  a  log  fire.  Dominat- 
ing it  all  is  the  clean  clover  sachet  you  sprinkled 
among  the  baby  clothes.  The  sachet  carried 
my  memory  straight  back  to  home,  for  it  smells 
like  your  upper  bureau  drawer. 

The  baby  things  came  this  morning,  and  I 
have  arranged  them  on  the  bed,  so  that  when 
Herbert  comes  back  from  teaching  his  Greek 
class,  he  will  get  the  full  benefit.    Dresses  and 

[50] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

petticoats,  silk-and-wool  shirts  and  bands, 
didies — all  six  months  size.  Do  you  fear  that 
I  will  not  be  able  to  nurse  your  grandbaby,  that 
you  sent  all  the  condensed  and  malted  milk  ? 

Next  time  you  have  to  go  to  Doctor  Smith's 
office,  give  him  my  thanks  for  his  kind  message. 
I  can  hear  him  gi-avely  telling  you  to  advise  me 
"by  all  means  to  go  to  the  nearest  hospital." 
Take  with  you  my  old  geography,  and  put  your 
pretty  forefinger  on  the  right-hand  upper  cor- 
ner of  the  Mediterranean.  Show  him  that  we 
are  where  the  map  begins  to  turn  around  that 
right-hand  upper  corner  down  towards  the 
Holy  Land.  Then  tell  him  the  nearest  hos- 
pital is  a  two  days'  sea  voyage  away.  Do  you 
suppose  Herbert's  salarj'-  could  send  me  to  Bei- 
rut?    And  could  I  take  the  journey  alone? 

You  are  quite  justified,  however,  in  your  wish 
that  I  make  plans  now  for  baby's  coming. 
The  only  trained  nurse  in  Cilicia  is  Miss  Hallie 
Wallis.  She  is  forty  miles  away.  She  re- 
ceives at  her  house  at  least  one  hundred  natives 

[51] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

a  day  and  has  more  work  than  her  limited 
strength  can  accomphsh.  JVIoreover,  she  has 
such  a  mixed  crowd  that  it  might  not  be  wise 
for  her  to  handle  a  baby  case. 

If  we  had  taken  the  little  church  in  Squee- 
dunkville  we  used  to  talk  about  in  Princeton 
days,  instead  of  setting  out  to  see  the  world  like 
a  couple  of  fellows  in  a  Grimm's  fairy  tale, 
you  would  now  be  forwarding  the  bassinette 
Grandma  gave  me  when  I  was  born.  Some 
nosey  old  parishioner  would  be  trimming  it  up 
for  me.  I  am  a  Presbyterian,  turned  Congre- 
gationalist  on  account  of  geography,  but  "con- 
formity unto"  would  give  me  fits  when  it  came 
to  parishioners'  notions.  I  am  much  too  hasty 
and  human  to  suit  anybody. 

Your  grandbaby  will  open  its  eyes  five  thou- 
sand miles  from  its  grandmother.  The  family 
heirlooms  must  wait  for  the  second  grandbaby. 

Some  weeks  ago  I  had  the  school  steward 
(name,  when  spoken,  sounds  like  Asturah)  go 
to  a  Fellahin  village  near  Tarsus  and  have  a 

[52] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

basket  made  for  me.  A  Fellahin  village  itself 
looks  like  a  dusty  unfinished  basket  turned  up- 
side down.  The  houses  are  made  of  a  crude 
reed  matting,  and  the  side  walls  have  the  reeds 
untrimmed  and  upright  at  the  place  where  you 
expect  to  see  eaves. 

I  figured  out  the  size  for  my  cradle  basket, 
then  cut  strings  of  the  right  length  for  the 
various  dimensions.  Through  an  interpreter 
I  explained  that  the  basket  must  be  oval.  As 
wide  at  the  top  as  my  blue  string,  as  wide  at 
the  bottom  as  my  red  string  and  as  deep  as  my 
white  string.  A  week  later  the  basket  was 
brought  to  our  balcony.  Herbert  and  I 
climbed  into  the  thing.  It  was  big  enough  for 
us  to  sit  down  in  it  Turkish  fashion,  both  at 
the  same  time. 

I  got  my  cradle  finally  "by  some  ingenious 
method."  (One  of  the  students  is  always  say- 
ing that.)  Funny  how  the  boys  here  pick  out 
bookish  expressions  and  use  them  for  every- 
thing.    I  collected  my  strings  again,  suspect- 

[53] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

ing  that  they  had  not  been  out  of  Asturah's 
belt  pocket  since  the  day  I  gave  them  to  him. 
You  ought  to  see  those  belts!  The  natives 
take  a  square  of  wool  material  with  a  striped 
blue  and  brown  and  red  Persian  design,  fold 
it  corner-wise,  and  attach  one  end  to  their  po- 
tato-sack trousers.  Then  they  wind  this  af- 
fair around  and  around  their  middle  and  fasten 
it  on  the  other  side.  The  shawl  is  pretty  big 
to  begin  with.  They  keep  an  amazing  number 
and  variety  of  things  in  the  fold  of  this  belt; 
dagger,  package  of  bread  and  cheese  and  olives 
for  lunch,  and  a  little  brass  contrivance  for 
holding  pen  and  ink.  There  is  really  some 
sense  to  this  kind  of  a  belt  in  a  blow-cold,  blow- 
hot  country,  for  it  keeps  tummies  warm  and 
protects  from  intestinal  troubles.  No  won- 
der natives  get  along  without  expensive  Jaeger 
cholera  belts. 

This  time  I  sent  Socrates  with  my  strings 
to  the  tinsmith  in  the  bazaar.  He  made  me  a 
tin    affair    according    to    my    measurements. 

[54] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Baby's  bathtub.  Next  I  sent  the  bathtub  to 
the  Fellahin  with  orders  to  make  a  basket  cov- 
ering for  it,  the  same  shape  as  the  "tin  dish" 
to  protect  it  during  a  long  journey  we  ex- 
pected soon  to  take.  The  weaver  then  had  in 
his  mind's  eye  just  how  tub  and  basket  would 
be  strapped  on  one  side  of  a  pack-saddle.  For 
these  people,  a  journey  means  going  some- 
where on  horseback.  When  we  sail  for  Mar- 
seilles in  June,  I  will  put  the  tub  into  the  bas- 
ket, pillows,  didies  and  mattress  into  the  tub, 
cover  the  whole  with  a  Turkish  cradle  shawl 
we  bought  yesterday,  and  fasten  it  with  a  big 
strap.  The  cradle  shawl  is  two  yards  square, 
made  of  coarse  woolen  material.  If  you 
please,  it  is  dyed  brilliant  red  and  green,  with 
alternating  checks.  How  is  that  for  something 
dainty  for  a  baby  ?  In  the  middle  of  the  shawl, 
about  a  yard  apart,  are  round  buttonholes. 
One  is  worked  in  green  and  the  other  red.  A 
native  mother  would  hitch  these  buttonholes  to 
little  pegs  that  stand  up  at  either  end  of  the 

[55] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

box-like  affair  she  uses  for  a  cradle  to  protect 
the  baby  inside  from  fresh  air.  Germs  are 
carefully  tucked  into  the  cradle  with  the  baby. 
Never  mind,  I  am  going  to  give  my  cradle 
shawl  a  good  cleaning,  and  I  expect  it  will  serve 
me  well  as  outer  covering  for  the  package 
I  shall  make  of  the  tub  and  bed  and  bedding. 
I  must  plan  thoughtfully  for  that  journey.  It 
will  be  worth  while  to  do  this  because  we  have 
to  go  to  Egypt  in  order  to  get  a  good  boat  for 
Marseilles  and  that  makes  a  twelve-day  voy- 
age. 

Cotton  crops  are  coming  in.  I  bought  a 
pile,  and  had  a  man  fluff  it  up  with  a  stringed 
instrument  that  looks  for  all  the  world  like  a 
giant's  violin  bow.  Oq  the  first  windless  day 
I  put  it  on  a  sheet,  spread  out  in  the  tennis 
court,  for  a  day's  sunshine.  The  sunshine 
here  reminds  me  of  Nice  at  its  best. 

In  the  bazaar  I  bought  white  material,  some- 
thing like  pique.  When  I  washed  and  ironed 
it,  I  cut  out  two  oval  pieces  a  little  larger  than 

[56] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

the  bottom  of  the  basket,  joined  the  two  ovals 
with  a  band  five  inches  wide,  stuffed  this  with 
the  cotton, — and  behold  a  jolly  little  mattress! 
Lucky  thing  I  am  so  attached  to  those  two  wee 
pillows  I  had  at  college.  Lucky,  too,  that  I 
bought  a  new  set  of  pillow  cases  for  them  be- 
fore I  left  home.  After  I  find  suitable  ma- 
terial and  make  a  pair  of  blankets,  my  cradle 
will  be  ready.  When  the  Queen  of  Holland's 
baby  comes,  it  won't  find  a  better  bed. 

We  have  been  laughing  at  Daddy  and 
Mother  Christie.  One  night  there  was  chicken 
for  dinner,  and  by  accident  not  quite  enough 
to  go  around.  Daddy  fussed  and  made  jokes, 
and  we  soon  forgot  all  about  it.  Not  so 
Daddy.  He  went  to  the  bazaar,  and  came 
home  with  the  announcement  that  he  had 
bought  one  hundred  chickens.  Boys  were  ha- 
stily put  to  work  to  make  a  pen,  and  fenced  off 
a  run !  The  chickens  arrived  that  same  after- 
noon, and  Daddy  laid  down  the  law  to  the  two 
chaps  who  were  to  take  care  of  them.     He 

[57] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

said  his  chickens  would  cost  the  school  nothing. 
He  was  paying  for  them  out  of  his  Civil  War 
pension.  The  chickens  were  photographed. 
Dr.  Christie  had  a  lot  of  prints  made  and  sent 
to  America.  On  the  back  of  each  photograph 
he  wrote:  "The  lay  workers  of  Tarsus." 
'Now  he  has  the  laugh  on  all  of  us.  The  pho- 
tographs and  Daddy's  inscription  have  already 
brought  in  much  more  money  in  gifts  to  the  col- 
lege than  the  chickens  and  photographs  and 
postage  cost.  Typical !  Such  a  darling  he  is. 
He  looks  like  Carnegie.  If  he  had  Carnegie's 
fortune,  we  should  have  to  call  him  Daddy 
Christmas. 

This  is  a  great  life.  We  may  have  evil-tast- 
ing fat  made  of  melted-down  sheep-tails,  and 
no  butter  for  our  bread,  but  there  are  bowls  of 
thirst-quenching  bonny-clabber  and  rolled  pats 
of  buffalo  cream.  The  rice  may  be  half- 
cooked,  and  the  bread  may  taste  sour,  but  al- 
most any  day  I  can  send  to  the  kitchen  where 
the  students'  food  is  prepared  and  get  a  plate 

[58] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

of  hulgur  made  of  coarse  ground  wheat.  We 
have  fresh  figs  stewed  or  raw  and  honeysweet, 
and  oh,  the  oranges.  I  am  guilty  of  one  "no- 
tion." I  eat  quantities  of  these  golden  or- 
anges, about  fourteen  a  day.  I  may  feel  the 
limitations  of  life  in  Turkey  in  many  ways,  but 
until  I  outgrow  them,  I  can  put  on  my  khaki 
riding  things,  swing  into  my  Mexican  saddle 
and  at  sunset  ride  like  the  wind  across  the  Cilic- 
ian  Plain  with  the  crying  of  jackals  and  the 
chant  of  the  muezzins  in  my  ears.  The  law  of 
compensation  is  a  fact,  my  dear,  and  let  me  tell 
you  this — don't  feel  sorry  for  missionaries. 


[59] 


ROUND  ABOUT  TARSUS 

April  fourth,  Ninete en-Nine. 
Dearest  Mother: 

I  haven't  written  since  I  told  you  the  big- 
gest news  a  girl  can  give  her  mother,  and  then 
I  was  so  full  of  it  that  I  did  not  answer  the 
questions  your  letters  have  been  re-iterating  for 
many  months.  What  is  Tarsus  like?  What 
sort  are  the  people,  and  your  school  boys? 
What  do  you  and  Herbert  do  with  yourselves 
out  there  in  that  God-forsaken  country?  It 
is  precisely  because  we  have  been  trying  to  find 
out  all  about  Tarsus  and  get  to  know  the  peo- 
ple and  the  boys  that  I  have  neglected  writing. 
That  is  part  of  the  reason.  The  biggest  part 
has  to  do  with  horses.  You  know  how  we  love 
to  ride — and  here  we  have  learned  what  it  really 
means  to  ride.     It  is  n't  a  genteel  afternoon 

[60] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

tea  parade  through  a  park  where  every  one  you 
meet  is  as  sick  of  seeing  you  and  the  park  as 
you  are  sick  of  seeing  them  and  the  park. 
When  conventional  city  folk  look  at  a  bird  or 
an  animal  in  a  cage,  and  are  sorry  for  the  poor 
thing,  it  is  only  another  sign  of  lack  of  realiza- 
tion as  well  as  of  imagination.  With  my  teas 
and  balls  and  clothes  I  was  blissfully  happy 
at  home:  but  so  was  our  canary.  Neither  of 
us  knew  any  better,  for  we  knew  only  our 
prison. 

We  have  been  round  about  Tarsus  every- 
where, and  every  day,  rain  or  shine.  There  is 
very  little  of  the  former.  From  the  moment  of 
our  arrival  in  Mersina  last  August,  aside  from 
an  hour  or  so  in  the  morning  of  tennis,  and  an 
occasional  visit  to  the  bazaars,  all  our  out-of- 
doors  has  been  on  horse.  We  have  explored 
the  citj'-  and  the  neighborhood,  and  have  tried 
the  roads  on  the  Plain  in  every  direction.  Her- 
bert's sky-piloting  in  Idaho  gave  him  a  taste 
for  restless  stallion  mounts,  and  I  encourage  it. 

[61] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Mastering  horses  is  training  for  mastering  men. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  world  better  for  the 
teacher  than  to  ride  high-spirited  horses.  The 
other  day  we  took  out  a  new  horse  Henri  Imer 
is  thinking  of  buying.  We  had  him  from  a  vil- 
lager, who  declared  the  horse  was  in  a  town  for 
the  first  time.  It  was  true!  For  he  shied  at 
every  little  thing.  I  tried  him  first,  and  had 
great  fun  making  him  go  through  crowded 
streets  and  the  bazaars.  The  noise  in  the  cop- 
per and  tin  bazaar  drove  him  wild.  But  I  had 
him  in  hand :  for  Turkish  bits  give  you  the  hold. 
He  did  not  like  the  butcher  stalls.  Such  a 
time.  It  cost  me  ten  piastres  to  the  indignant 
butcher  to  get  the  better  of  the  horse.  But  I 
did  it  by  making  him  go  straight  up  and  rub 
his  nose  in  freshly-cut  pot-roasts.  There  was 
no  danger  for  pedestrians.  In  Turkey  the 
people  are  used  to  camels  and  horses  and  buf- 
faloes "acting  regardless."  Pedestrians  know 
how  to  get  out  of  the  way. 

Coming  home,  Herbert  was  trying  the  frac- 
[62] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

tious  beast.  We  took  him  around  by  a  water- 
wheel  which  we  call  the  "thii'd  degree."  It 
is  our  final  stunt  in  town-breaking  a  village 
horse.  The  water-wheel  stands  almost  at 
right-angles  with  the  road.  Its  little  buckets 
dip  up  the  water  and  empty  some  ten  feet  above 
into  an  irrigation  trench.  The  hub  of  the 
wheel  screeches  and  the  buckets  keep  up  a 
clank-clank,  accompanied  by  a  thud  as  they  go 
into  the  water  and  a  sucking  sound  as  they 
come  out.  The  road  is  narrow — brook  on  one 
side  and  wall  on  the  other.  Over  the  wall  pro- 
trude branches  of  a  tree,  wrapped  round  by 
hanging  vines.  It  is  low  bridge  for  fair. 
Herbert,  leaning  over  the  neck  of  the  fright- 
ened beast,  had  all  kinds  of  trouble.  We 
knew  the  animal  had  no  intention  of  falling  into 
the  stream.  Horses  don't.  The  horse,  how- 
ever, refused  to  pass  the  wheel.  Each  time  he 
backed  Pony  and  me  some  yards  down  the 
road.  Finally  Herbert  lost  his  whip.  It  fell 
into   the    stream.     Herbert    looked    relieved. 

[63] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

But  you  know,  Mother,  the  elemental  in  me 
would  not  allow  me  to  see  a  horse  get  the  better 
of  my  man.  I  gave  Herbert  my  whip.  He 
tried  again,  and  got  by.  Pony,  who  had  long 
ago  received  "the  third  degree"  when  we  first 
discovered  that  wheel,  followed  easily. 

Alas,  the  days  of  horseback  have  passed  for 
me  until  next  summer. 

The  other  day  we  made  a  second  trip  to  the 
sea,  this  time  in  a  carriage.  Socrates  was  on 
the  box,  and  Herbert  was  gallant  enough  to 
forego  his  mount  and  ride  with  me. 

Halfway  we  stopped  at  a  tchiflik  (farm- 
house) to  water  the  horses  and  try  to  buy  eggs. 
Every  farmer  has  half  a  dozen  dogs — ugly  fel- 
lows that  give  low  growls.  They  hate  you  the 
way  their  Mohammedan  masters  hate  you. 
After  the  tenant  of  the  farm-house  had  driven 
back  his  dogs,  he  surprised  us  by  showing  un- 
usual friendliness.  We  asked  for  eggs.  He 
said  he  had  none.  This  we  knew  was  cheerful 
mendacity:  so  we  pressed  him  further.     Fi- 

[64] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

nally  he  brought  us  a  whole  basket  of  eggs, 
saying  that  he  ought  not  to  sell  them,  because 
he  was  supposed  to  send  them  all  to  the  town 
to  Pasha  Somebody  or  Other.  As  we  were 
leaving,  we  put  a  coin  into  his  hand.  He 
would  not  take  it!  Socrates  gave  it  to  a  lit- 
tle girl  who  was  apparently  the  child  of  the 
tenant.  Some  superstition  made  the  father 
hesitate  to  take  the  money  directly  from  us. 
Farther  along,  a  lone  dead  tree  twisted  itself 
above  the  masonry  of  a  typical  oriental  well 
of  ancient  origin.  As  we  stopped  our  carriage 
a  moment,  we  saw  a  solitary  owl  sitting  mo- 
tionless on  a  loosened  stone.  When  we  drove 
on,  the  owl  turned  his  head  slowly  following 
us,  like  a  spirit  of  a  forgotten  century  resent- 
ing with  superb  unconcern  the  investigating 
energy  of  modern  times.  A  flock,  no,  I  ought 
to  call  it  a  whole  nation,  of  wild  geese  was 
quietly  standing,  undisturbed  by  our  approach 
and  arranged  in  little  groups  as  if  according 
to  tribes,  although  all  were  facing  the  same 

[65] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

way.  They  looked  like  the  men  of  different 
counties  in  the  same  state — drawn  up  in  mili- 
tary line  and  waiting  for  orders.  Herbert  and 
Socrates  growled  because  they  had  no  guns 
with  them.  I  was  glad  that  such  perfect  unity 
did  not  have  to  be  broken  up  just  to  amuse 
us. 

When  we  reached  the  sea  the  old  gray  horse 
wanted  to  have  another  roll  in  the  sand.  The 
last  time  he  had  seen  the  sand  was  the  day  he 
tried  to  roll  with  me  on  his  back.  Socrates  un- 
hitched the  horses,  and  soon  it  was  time  for 
luncheon.  We  settled  ourselves  on  steamer 
rugs  and  unpacked  our  provisions.  We  had 
tea  made  in  my  tea-basket  and  cold  turkey, 
the  remains  of  Sunday  dinner.  When  lunch 
was  finished,  Herbert  and  I  took  a  long  walk  on 
the  beach.  It  was  a  blustery  day  when  sun- 
shine alternates  with  low  swiftly-moving 
clouds.  Ahead  of  us  was  the  town  of  Mersina, 
a  curved  line  of  mingled  flat  roofs  and  slender 
minarets.     A  mile  out  to  sea  lay  half  a  dozen 

[e6] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

ships,  and  we  knew  that  there  must  be  mail  for 
us  in  Mersina. 

After  we  turned  back  towards  the  place 
where  our  camp  was,  we  could  see  beyond  it  a 
ramshackle  stioicture,  lonely  and  abandoned 
now — since  the  New  Constitution.  Here  used 
to  be  stationed  a  guard — not  a  Life  Saving 
Guard,  such  as  we  should  have  in  a  similar 
place — a  guard  whose  whole  duty  it  was  to 
watch  for  Armenians,  who  chose  this  part  of 
the  seashore  to  escape  in  small  boats.  From 
here  it  was  comparatively  easy  to  get  a  ship 
and  go  away  from  Turkey  forever.  There  was 
romance,  as  well  as  adventure,  in  these  escapes. 
A  young  Armenian  found  means  to  go  to 
America,  and  there  made  plenty  of  money. 
Back  here  on  this  Cilician  Plain  a  girl  was  wait- 
ing. The  man  saved  up  enough  to  come  back 
and  get  the  girl.  His  friends  smuggled  her 
out  to  the  ship,  a  missionary  was  pressed  into 
service,  and  a  wedding  at  sea  took  place.  The 
bride  and  groom  sailed  away,  returning  to  New 

[67] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

York  or  Chicago,  to  live  happily  ever  after- 
wards. You  see  the  young  man  had  become  an 
American  citizen.  If  he  landed  on  Turkish 
soil,  the  new  citizenship  would  have  been  lost. 
That  is  why  his  bride  had  to  go  out  to  the  ship 
to  be  married.  The  guard-house  must  have 
frequently  intercepted  such  weddings :  for  it  is 
built  where  it  commands  the  coast  Mersina- 
wards. 

On  the  way  home  we  saw  a  great  deal  of 
black  smoke.  This  meant  some  people  were 
having  fun  driving  wild  boar  out  of  the 
swamps.  You  get  natives  for  "beaters,"  build 
fires  through  the  canebrake,  and  then  you  wait 
patiently.  There  is  sure  to  be  a  reward  if  your 
"beaters"  don't  take  the  stick  or  the  shot  be- 
fore you  get  your  spear  or  your  gun  ready. 
The  last  time  we  were  visiting  the  British  Con- 
sul in  Mersina,  the  Doughty- Wylies  took  us 
pig-sticking.  After  making  elaborate  ar- 
rangements, with  any  number  of  native  "beat- 
ers" in  tow,  the  best  shot  of  the  day  was  lost 

[68] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

just  this  way.  The  "beaters"  did  not  remem- 
ber that  their  job  was  to  beat — not  to  steal  shots 
they  were  paid  to  let  slip. 

It  began  to  rain.  But  we  did  n't  care.  It 
was  a  slanting  rain  and  fortunately  dashed 
against  the  back  of  the  carriage.  We  had  rugs 
and  coats:  so  the  rain  was  an  addition  to  the 
fun.  We  were  careful  to  protect  our  drift- 
wood, of  which  we  had  gathered  enough  to 
make  two  or  three  glorious  fires.  That  even- 
ing we  burned  the  di'iftwood,  only  to  be  disap- 
pointed. Of  wonderful  colors  we  got  not  one 
flicker.  Is  this  another  superstition  dis- 
proved? 

When  Herbert  writes  the  letter  about  Tarsus 
that  he  has  long  been  talking  about,  but  never 
gets  down  to,  he  will  probably  say  much  about 
the  bazaars.  But  I  am  now  going  to  anticipate 
him.  Why  not?  I  have  only  the  typewriter 
to  console  me  for  having  to  give  up  my  horse. 
Anyway,  we  may  get  away  from  here  and  into 
other  things  before  Herbert  tackles  Tarsus.     I 

[69] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

am  still  waiting  to  see  his  letter  on  the  trip  he 
took  to  the  Holy  Land/ 

There  are  very  few  women  in  the  bazaars. 
None  at  all  are  engaged  in  selling.  Turkish 
ladies  never  go.  Rarely  one  sees  Ai'menian 
and  Fellahin  women  buying.  When  the  time 
came  to  get  Christmas  gifts  for  Herbert,  I 
did  the  markets  with  one  of  the  Seniors.  It 
is  perfectly  proper  for  me  to  go  to  the  bazaars. 
Foreign  women  are  a  different  order  of  beings, 
absolutely  beyond  the  comprehension  of  the 
natives.  They  look  at  me  as  if  I  had  dropped 
from  Mars.  I  suppose  they  consider  me  a  sex- 
less being,  resembling  their  women  only  in  the 
lack  of  a  soul.  Menfolks  in  Turkey,  you 
know,  have  a  corner  on  souls.  Herbert  and  I 
have  a  great  deal  of  fun  as  we  walk  about  Tar- 
sus. 

But  I  was  telling  you  about  my  Christmas 

1  More  than  seven  years  have  passed,  and  neither  the  Tarsus 
letter  nor  the  Holy  Land  letter  has  yet  been  written.  Our 
life  moves  so  fast,  in  the  midst  of  a  great  and  changing  drama, 
that  the  event  at  hand  demands  all  there  is  of  time  and  energy. 

[70] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

shopping.  I  took  Harutun,  my  Senior,  to 
the  markets  half  a  dozen  times.  You  cannot 
go  to  a  shop  and  select  the  thing  you  want, 
then  ask  the  price  and  have  it  sent  home.  Oh, 
no!  You  go,  and  appear  to  be  looking  at 
something  else,  and  let  your  attention  be  at- 
tracted to  the  thing  you  really  want — by  merest 
chance.  Even  then  you  do  not  mention  this 
to  the  merchant.  You  simply  say  to  your 
English-speaking  boy:  "See  that  little  brass 
bowl  in  the  opposite  corner  of  the  shop  ?  I  will 
give  him  eight  piastres  for  it."  Boy  says: 
"Yes,  Mrs.  Gibbons,"  and  you  turn  up  your 
nose  a  little  higher  as  the  merchant  urges  upon 
you  the  purchase  of  some  other  thing  you  do  not 
intend  to  buy.  You  draw  yourself  up  to  your 
full  majestic  height,  incline  your  head  back- 
ward the  least  little  bit,  raise  your  hand  in  a 
queenly  waving  aside,  give  a  little  click  with 
your  tongue,  perhaps  emphasizing  it  by  ex- 
claiming in  good  Turkish:  "Yok"  (which  be- 
ing interpreted   means   "nothing   doing,    old 

[71] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

man"),  and  then  you  indifferently  withdraw, 
followed  by  your  boy.  Next  day  Harutun 
sends  another  boy,  who  gets  your  brass  bowl  for 
about  one-quarter  the  price  you  'd  paid  if  you 
had  insisted  on  buying  it  yourself.  That  is 
how  shopping  is  done  in  the  Orient.  In  this 
way  I  got  Herbert  a  fine  old  copper  tray  and  a 
queer  pitcher-like  thing  to  go  with  it.  I  found 
two  coins  whose  owner  did  not  appreciate  them, 
and  these  I  had  made  into  a  pair  of  cuff-links. 
A  tiny  silver  cup,  about  an  inch  and  a  half  in 
diameter,  with  the  dearest  little  carved  handle, 
was  the  best  thing  of  all.  We  use  it  on  our 
desk  as  a  place  to  keep  pens.  I  pursued  a 
camel-train,  and  after  a  great  deal  of  intrigue 
came  into  possession  of  several  camel-bells. 
These  are  especially  interesting  to  us  because 
they  were  bought  right  off  the  camel.  It  re- 
minded me  of  pig-tail  days  in  the  Engadine, 
when  I  followed  a  pretty  cow  home  to  her 
owner's  chalet,  and  bought  the  bell  on  her  neck. 
Tarsus  markets  are  cosmopolitan.  You  can 
[72] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

find  a  dozen  races  rubbing  elbows  there.  The 
predominating  four  are  Turks,  Arab  Fellahin, 
Armenians  and  Greeks.  There  is  a  babel  of 
these  four  tongues.  One  hears  also  Russian, 
Persian,  Hindustani  and  Italian.  We  manage 
with  French  in  Mersina,  but  it  is  little  spoken 
in  Tarsus.  The  Turkish  language  rules  in  in- 
ter-racial transactions.  Armenians  must  use 
this  language.  Educated  Armenians  strug- 
gle valiantly  to  maintain  the  two  surviving  ele- 
ments of  national  identity:  the  church  and  the 
language.  But  oddly  enough  the  mother- 
tongue  of  the  average  Armenian  is  Turkish. 
Greek  has  a  strong  hold  upon  the  Greeks  here. 
It  is  something  like  the  tenacious  hold  of  the 
French  language  in  Canada.  The  Fellahin 
speak  a  form  of  Arabic,  but  are  too  ignorant  to 
care  whether  they  make  themselves  understood 
or  not.  Some  weeks  ago  Jeanne  Imer  and  I 
were  being  carefully  escorted  through  a  Fella- 
hin village  by  one  of  the  students.  Suddenly 
a  little  boy  ran  into  the  road.     He  took  hold 

[73] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

of  my  bridle,  looked  up  at  me  with  a  wimiing 
smile,  and  said:  "From  where  you  come? 
From  America?"  Imagine  my  surprise.  I 
was  delighted  to  hear  my  own  language  away 
off  here  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  I  reached 
into  my  coat  pocket,  pulled  out  an  orange,  and 
gave  it  to  the  little  fellow.  He  said  "Thank 
you"  most  politely.  I  found  afterwards  that 
there  is  a  mission  school  in  the  quarter  of  Tar- 
sus nearest  where  these  people  live.  The  child 
was  evidently  a  pupil.  But  was  n't  it  cute  of 
him  to  spot  me  for  an  American ! 

To-day  my  rooms  are  getting  an  extra  house- 
cleaning,  and  I  have  two  boys  hard  at  work. 
One  is  washing  three  of  my  rugs.  He  has,  as 
little  Cousin  Myers  used  to  say,  "his  bare  feet 
on."  He  jumps  up  and  down  on  the  wet, 
soapy  rugs;  then  pounds  them  with  a  big 
flat  stick  that  looks  like  a  cricket-bat.  They 
are  certainly  getting  clean — though  I  doubt 
whether  you  and  I  should  adopt  that  method  if 
we  had  the  job.     The  boys  are  trying  to  talk 

[74] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Armenian  to  each  other.  They  try  hard.  But 
they  cannot  help  falhng  into  Turkish.  For  in 
this  part  of  Turkey  their  mother-tongue  is  the 
language  of  their  oppressors — the  badge  of 
servitude. 

Armenians  of  breeding  and  education  foster 
their  language  with  all  their  heart  and  soul. 
There  is  a  desperate  attempt  to  preserve  the 
national  unity,  always  with  the  opposition  of 
the  terrible  Turks!  The  Armenians  have 
natural  ability  along  the  line  of  enterprise  and 
making  money,  but  this  has  been  so  curbed  by 
the  oppressor  that  even  stout  hearts  have 
given  up  and  lapsed  into  a  paralysis  of  the  will 
that  would  be  contemptible  if  one  did  not  un- 
derstand it.  Under  favorable  circumstances, 
when  the  Armenian  has  been  given  a  square 
deal,  he  is  successful.  He  is  a  bom  merchant. 
This  is  proved  when  he  goes  to  another  country 
where  his  enterprise  can  have  its  own  way. 

We  met  a  fine  young  fellow  in  Adana  not 
long  ago.     He  had  come  home  to  see  about 

[75] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

the  education  of  a  little  sister  in  the  mission 
school  in  Adana.  He  was  in  America  only 
six  years,  but  has  come  back  thoroughly  Ameri- 
canized, with  a  lot  of  money  earned  as  a  candy 
drummer.  He  is  a  good  example  of  our  j^oung 
American  hustler  who  is  almost  blatantly  suc- 
cessful. It  was  refreshing  to  meet  him,  for  he 
sounded  like  home.  The  appearance  of  such 
a  man  among  his  old  associates  causes  consid- 
erable dissatisfaction,  for  he  has  made  more 
money  in  this  short  time  than  his  cousins  and 
brothers  can  make  in  a  lifetime.  The  edu- 
cators of  Armenian  boys  have  a  problem  before 
them.  Are  they  going  to  educate  the  boys  in 
order  to  encourage  them  to  go  to  America? 
Is  n't  the  reason  for  having  the  schools  to  help 
these  people  to  a  better  life  in  their  own  coun- 
try? Why  educate  the  bright  boys  at  all,  if 
it  is  not  to  equip  them  to  spend  their  lives  for 
the  good  of  their  countrymen  ?  Yet,  what  can 
you  answer  to  the  pathetic  and  conclusive  argu- 
ment that  the  educated  Armenian  has  no  chance 

[76] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

for  advancement,  so  long  as  Armenia  is  under 
Turkish  rule?  They  really  have  no  chance, 
the  boys  with  a  diploma.  They  are  educated 
for  unhappiness  and  for  danger.  We  cannot 
shut  our  eyes  to  the  fact  that  after  they  have 
been  years  in  our  schools,  American  education 
fits  them  for  American  opportunities,  and  un- 
fits them  for  Turkish  opportunities.  More 
than  this,  after  we  have  given  them  the  vision 
of  another  kind  of  national  as  well  as  another 
kind  of  individual  life,  they  are  marked  men 
among  the  Turks,  and  are  the  first  to  be  sought 
out  when  a  massacre  comes.  Herbert  and  I 
have  our  misgivings  about  all  this  work  here. 
In  spite  of  the  heralded  liberty  of  the  Consti- 
tution, it  requires  more  optimism  than  we  have 
to  believe  that  Armenians  are  safer  under 
Young  Turks  than  they  were  under  old  Turks. 
Bairam  means  feast.  After  every  religious 
fast,  a  bairam.  It  is  an  occasion  for  eating  im- 
moderately, and  for  giving  a  little  pleasure  and 
break  in  the  dull  monotony  of  woman  and 

[77] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

child  life.  During  the  last  bairam,  in  the  field 
of  the  camel  market  there  was  a  funny  little 
"merry-go-round"  and  a  crude  Ferris  wheel, 
which  had  hanging  wooden  cages  each  big 
enough  to  hold  four  children — if  they  were 
small.  A  beaming  brown-faced  peasant  was 
taking  in  the  money  and  bossing  the  two  men 
who  turned  the  wheel  and  the  merry-go-round. 
He  came  up  to  us,  and  with  real  pride  in  his 
voice,  asked:  "Have  you  anything  hke  this  in 
America?" 

On  Sunday  morning,  the  classes  have  their 
lesson  taught  in  their  class-rooms,  and  then 
they  come  together  in  the  assembly-room  for 
the  concluding  exercises.  As  these  are  given 
in  Turkish,  Herbert  and  I  do  not  feel  called 
upon  to  go.  So  we  commit  the  heresy  of  slip- 
ping out  for  a  walk.  It  is  a  heresy.  Mother, 
to  these  dear  good  people.  The  missionaries 
have  puritanical  notions  of  Sabbath-keeping 
that  are  different  from  anything  Herbert  and 
I  have  ever  run  across.     Of  course,  we  say 

[78] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

nothing  to  the  boys.  But  we  often  wonder  if 
they  think  that  American  hfe  is  run  on  mission- 
ary principles.  The  boys  are  taught  that 
smoking  is  a  sin.  That  is  only  one  instance. 
On  Sundays,  they  are  not  allowed  to  leave  the 
college  grounds  except  to  go  over  to  the  Ai*- 
menian  Protestant  Church  for  the  afternoon 
service.  Taking  walks  is  taboo.  What  do 
you  think  of  that?  We  easily  forego  the 
smoking.  It  is  a  question  of  example  to  boys : 
and  we  see  the  reasonableness  of  the  point  of 
view.  But  we  simply  cannot  stay  indoors  on 
these  glorious  days. 

We  always  take  the  same  Sunday  morning 
walk:  for  it  never  fails  to  interest  us.  We 
circle  the  college  grounds,  and  climb  up  on  a 
mound,  under  which  Cleopatra's  castle  or  Sar- 
danapalus's  tomb  is  supposed  to  be.  There  we 
hear  the  boys  singing.  They  are  wonderful 
singers,  and  we  love  to  listen  to  the  familiar 
hymn  tunes.  Last  Sunday  a  Moslem  wedding 
was  being  celebrated  at  the  same  time.     Men  in 

[79] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

gay-colored  jackets  and  sashes  were  moving 
towai'd  the  house  where  the  wedding  was  tak- 
ing place :  others  were  already  around  the  door. 
A  native  orchestra  was  playing.  The  instru- 
ments were  squeaking  reed  whistles,  two- 
stringed  guitars  and  drums.  You  can  imagine 
the  music  they  give  forth,  when  I  add  that 
they  never  get  off  the  minor  key.  On  the  flat 
roof  a  group  of  women,  veiled  and  silent,  hud- 
dled pathetically  together.  The  blending  of 
heathenish  music  with  a  JNIoody  and  Sankey 
hymn  was  indescribable. 

Crossing  the  open  space  from  the  mound  to 
the  Mersina  road,  we  see  ill-kept  cattle  trying 
to  get  grass  to  keep  them  from  starvation. 
Sometimes  there  is  a  sick  or  aged  horse  brought 
here  to  die.  With  all  the  frightful  cruelty 
to  animals  everywhere  evident,  Orientals 
strangely  enough  will  not  kill  animals.  They 
do  not  put  out  of  misery  beasts  suffering  from 
their  neglect  and  cruelty.  This  distorted  kind- 
ness comes  to  cap  the  climax  of  misery  for  pa- 

[80] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

tient  burden-bearers  broken  with  toil.  When 
an  animal  falls  by  the  roadside,  and  the  owner 
cannot  whip  or  kick  it  into  going  farther,  he 
just  leaves  it  there.  In  riding  we  see  fre- 
quently the  remains  of  a  camel  or  a  horse.  In 
spite  of  wanting  to  avoid  the  offense  to  nostrils 
as  well  as  the  struggle  with  a  mount  shying 
for  good  reason,  we  have  to  pass  by.  For  the 
carcass  is  generally  right  alongside  the  road, 
and  we  cannot  always  make  a  detour  through 
the  fields.  Filthy  jackals  skulk  away  at  our 
approach,  howling  in  savage  protest  and  yet 
trembling  with  fear  of  us. 

We  pass  out  of  the  town  to  the  Mersina  road 
under  an  interesting  arch,  called  St.  Paul's 
gate.  It  is  one  of  the  gates  of  the  old  walled 
city,  but  whether  it  is  of  Roman,  Byzantine  or 
Arabic  origin  it  is  impossible  to  tell.  In  Tar- 
sus and  all  around  Tarsus  there  are  numerous 
archeological  remains.  But  they  have  been  so 
defaced  and  mutilated  and  built  over  that  it  is 
hard  to  get  any  idea  at  all  of  the  original  con- 

[81] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

struction.  The  natives  declare  that  the  Mer- 
sina  gate  was  built  by  Harun-al-Rashid,  hero 
of  the  Arabian  Nights.  Harun's  walls  did 
pass  at  this  point,  and  the  city  has  never  gone 
beyond.  A  few  yards  outside  the  gate,  we  are 
in  a  Fellahin  village.  Between  two  of  the  reed 
huts  is  a  mud  oven,  patted  into  oval  form,  baked 
outside  by  the  sun  and  inside  by  a  fire  of  grass. 
When  we  pass,  the  women  are  always  making 
bread.  The  whole  operation  is  before  your 
eyes.  The  wheat  is  threshed  out  of  its  stalks 
and  winnowed,  and  ground  in  a  stone  basin  with 
a  huge  pestle  of  iron  or  copper.  The  coarse 
flour  is  mixed  with  water,  and  kneaded  in  pats 
about  as  big  as  my  hand.  These  are  passed 
to  an  old  hag,  who  quickly  flattens  them  out  on 
a  board,  using  her  forearm  as  rolling-pin. 
They  are  put  in  the  oven  with  sticks.  Two  or 
three  minutes — and  you  have  your  bread.  It 
is  not  in  loaves.  Think  of  a  griddle-cake  nine 
inches  in  diameter,  or  something  even  thinner 
than  a  griddle-cake,  and  you  have  the  Fellahin 

[82] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

bread.  It  is  splendid  wrapping  paper.  When 
there  are  no  fig-leaves  at  hand,  the  peas- 
ants give  you  butter  and  cheese  done  up  in 
bread. 

The  Cydnus  River  runs  through  and  around 
Tarsus  in  a  dozen  branches,  all  of  which  do  the 
quadruple  service  of  mill  races,  drinking 
troughs  for  man  and  beast,  washing  places  for 
man  and  beast  and  carriage  and  clothes,  and 
irrigation  ditches.  There  is  plenty  of  water 
and  it  runs  so  fast  that  there  is  always  time 
for  it  to  get  clean  for  the  user  below.  Tarsus 
is  full  of  mills:  cotton,  sesame,  flour  and  saw- 
mills. One  of  the  largest  cotton-mills — for 
ginning  and  weaving  both — is  on  the  INIersina 
road.  Here  we  stop  to  watch  and  tease  the 
turtles  in  the  mill-race.  They  are  lined  up  on 
the  bank,  generation  after  generation  of  them 
— like  a  family  group  for  a  photograph  in  New 
England  (of  the  old  days  only,  alas!).  The 
timid  ones  flop  into  the  water  at  our  approach. 
Most  of  them,  however,  are  insolently  indif- 

[83] 


THE  KED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

ferent.  Our  idea  is  to  make  them  all  "va- 
moose." We  throw  pieces  of  sugar-cane  at 
them,  and  Herbert,  everlasting  kid,  is  not  satis- 
fied until  only  ungraceful  claws,  wildly  wav- 
ing above  the  surface  of  the  water,  reveal  where 
the  sprawling  creatures  have  taken  refuge. 
Not  a  head  dares  appear:  for  Herbert  is  near 
baseball  days,  and  sugar-cane  is  heavy  enough 
to  carry  straight.  In  the  wider  water  beyond 
the  mill,  we  frequently  see  long  shapeless  ridges 
of  brown-black  shifting  lazily  about,  moving 
just  enough  to  show  that  they  are  not  mud- 
banks.  A  rude  cart  stands  on  the  edge  of  the 
stream  and  on  its  pole  is  fastened  a  double- 
yoke.  Those  ridges  are  the  buffaloes  that  be- 
long to  the  cart.  The  lumbering  beasts  sway 
back  and  forth  through  the  streets  dragging 
incredibly  high  and  heavy  loads  of  cotton-bales 
to  the  railroad.  Occasionally  they  are  un- 
hitched and  allowed  to  get  into  the  water  for 
a  rest  and  a  bath.  There  they  lie  in  the  gray 
mud,  absolutely  relaxed,  languidly  flapping 

[84] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

their  ears  to  splash  water  on  their  heads. 
Our  walk  ends  at  the  bridge  half  a  mile  be- 
yond the  cotton  factory.  West  of  the  bridge 
the  Adana-Mersina  road  enters  the  great  Cili- 
cian  Plain  once  more  after  the  long  break  of 
Tarsus  and  its  suburbs.  Half  a  dozen  broken 
places  in  this  bridge  are  a  constant  menace  to 
horse  and  camel.  It  keeps  getting  worse  and 
worse.  An  enormous  traffic  passes  over  it :  but 
does  any  one  think  of  mending  it?  They  will 
wait  until  it  falls  down.  The  motto  of  this 
country  is  every  man  for  himself.  There  is  no 
public  spirit — no  idea  of  the  common  weal. 
One  is  moved  only  by  what  affects  him  directly, 
and  acts  only  for  what  he  believes  is  his  inter- 
est. But  none  sees  farther  than  immediate  in- 
terest. To-morrow  is  in  God's  hands.  The 
Young  Turk  regime,  on  which  we  see  the 
American  newspapers  and  magazines  publish- 
ing extravagant  eulogies — how  will  it  succeed? 
The  governing  classes  in  Islam  cannot  be  re- 
generated until  Islam  is  imbued  with  a  differ- 

[85] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

ent  spirit — self-sacrifice,  initiative,  thought  of 
the  future. 

Every  day  we  look  out  of  our  window  to  see 
what  there  is  to  see.  This  is  no  idle  curiosity 
or  idle  waste  of  time — there  is  always  some 
sight  to  be  memorized,  visualized,  and  tucked 
away  in  your  mind  for  future  reference.  A 
little  group  of  haggard,  prematurely  old 
women,  with  veils  over  their  heads,  and  tall 
green  or  terra-cotta  water-bottles  on  their  bent 
shoulders,  passes  by.  The  women  of  the  poor 
wear  shabby  black  bloomers,  shoes  without 
stockings,  gay-colored  blouses  open  at  the 
throat,  and  on  their  heads  veils  made  of  cheese- 
cloth. One  corner  of  the  veil  they  hold  in 
their  teeth,  so  that  but  half  of  their  hopelessly 
tired,  haunting,  unhappy  faces  can  be  seen. 
Only  the  children  and  the  men  look  happy  at 
all.  Very  early  the  lines  of  care  and  cruelty 
are  indelibly  penciled  upon  girl-faces.  Half 
a  dozen  horses  bravely  struggle  along  under  the 
weight  of  an  odd-looking  burden :  the  bakeries 

[86] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

here  burn  in  their  ovens  green  branches  of  a 
kind  of  resinous  bush  that  grows  in  the  foot- 
hills and  mountains.  The  bush  is  gathered 
and  bound  into  rough  bundles,  and  put  in  bulg- 
ing loads  on  the  groaning  pack-saddles  of  un- 
complaining horses.  The  horse  is  hidden  in  his 
leafy  burden.  A  passing  train  looks  like  a 
moving  forest.  One  could  believe  Shakespeare 
had  been  here  to  get  the  idea  of  the  Burnham 
beeches  moving  to  Dunsinane! 

Childish  voices  call  up  hopefully:  "Ma- 
dama."  I  see  sometimes  as  many  as  a  dozen 
children  holding  out  their  hands.  Some  girls 
have  tiny  babies  strapped  to  their  backs.  I  go 
to  the  window  armed  with  savory  ammunition, 
and  before  I  know  it  these  fascinating  young 
ones  have  charmed  away  all  my  store  of  dates 
and  figs  and  candies  from  the  last  day  in 
JNIersina. 

If  you  look  higher  than  the  street  you  see  a 
sky-line  that  leads  from  flat  grass-topped  roofs, 
through  the  town,  up  to  the  foot-hills.     Domes 

[87] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

mean  mosques,  when  flanked  by  minarets.  The 
minarets  are  tall,  slender  and  pointed  at  the 
top.  Where  the  cone  begins,  a  door  opens  to  a 
sftiall  iron-railed  ledge,  and  here  it  is  that  the 
muezzin  walks  when  he  sings  the  chant  that 
calls  the  faithful  to  prayer.  You  know  as  you 
look  at  these  minarets  at  the  hour  of  prayer  that 
men  are  lying  prostrate  before  each  of  the 
mosques,  and  more  men  are  grouped  around  the 
city  fountains  washing  their  feet  in  prepara- 
tion for  prayer.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  think  of 
the  curse  against  "infidels"  in  the  call  to  prayer 
— even  if  the  muezzin  has  a  sweet  voice  that 
rings  out  over  the  houses  and  comes  to  you 
mingled  with  the  sweeter  voice  of  the  muezzin 
in  a  more  distant  minaret. 

Away  to  the  left  are  the  beloved  Taurus 
mountains.  They  are  never-failing — and  we 
look  at  them  with  new  eyes  every  day.  As  we 
go  down  to  breakfast,  we  stop  just  a  minute 
to  see  the  color  and  outline  of  these  old  friends. 
We  can  distinguish  the  pass  that  leads   to 

[88] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Namrun — and  often  in  the  moonlight  we  think 
of  the  lovely  night  last  autumn  when  we  rode 
into  Tarsus  while  the  deep  rich  bell  of  the 
clock-tower  was  ringing.  The  clock  strikes  the 
hour,  then  after  a  pause  of  two  minutes  repeats 
it.  Splendid  idea:  for  you  can  check  up  on 
your  first  count. 

A  whole  letter  could  be  written  about  what 
we  see  from  the  windows.  Whatever  I  write, 
the  culmination,  the  climax,  must  be  the  camels. 
They  are  the  best  of  all  "sights"  to  me.  The 
fii'st  I  saw  were  in  Smyrna,  or  rather  just  out- 
side of  Smyrna,  taking  refuge  under  a  clump 
of  trees  from  the  noon-day  sun.  It  was  a 
group  of  at  least  thirty,  the  most  camels  I  had 
ever  seen  together  in  my  life.  I  wanted  then 
to  stop,  but  we  were  en  route  for  Polycarp's 
tomb,  and  had  only  a  few  hours  ashore. 
Now  I  have  camels  to  my  heart's  delight  and 
satisfaction.  But  never  enough!  Our  street 
is  one  of  the  roads  to  the  market-place.  Dur- 
ing the  autumn,  when  much  wood  and  cotton 

[89] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

was  being  transported,  camels  passed  under  my 
window  every  morning.  About  six  o'clock 
they  began.  Train  after  train  wound  slowly 
along.  The  camels  travel  single  file,  fastened 
from  saddle  to  saddle. 

Until  I  came  to  Turkey,  I  had  seen  few 
camels  outside  of  a  Zoo.  The  only  loose  one 
I  remember  is  the  camel  ridden  in  Paris  by 
the  beggar  that  used  to  haunt  the  Place  Saint- 
Michel.  No  two  camels  are  alike.  In  a  hun- 
dred that  pass,  each  is  different  from  the  one 
ahead,  very  different.  Camels  are  just  as  dif- 
ferent as  people.  They  are  dark  brown,  tawny 
brown,  on  and  on  through  the  various  shades  up 
to  the  palest  tan.  The  colors  run  from  that  one 
gets  from  polishing  russet  shoes  with  the  black 
shoe  brush  to  that  produced  by  whitewashing  a 
dust-covered  wall.  The  shades  are  the  echoes 
of  the  blending  shifting  tones  of  desert  sand. 
The  wide  cushioned  foot  speaks  fervently  of  the 
silence  and  patience  of  the  camel's  journeyings 

[90] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

to  and  fro.  The  camel's  eye  is  sorrowful.  His 
air  is  supercilious,  as  if  his  claim  to  aristocracy 
among  animals  was  forever  settled  by  the  fact 
that  he  was  the  favorite  of  Mohammed. 


[91] 


HAMLET  AND  THE  GATHERING 
OF  THE  STORM  CLOUDS 

Ap?il  seventh,  Nineteen-Nine. 
Dear  Mother : 

There  's  an  awful  lot  of  knowledge, 
That  you  never  get  at  college. 

But  I  tell  you,  my  dear,  I  am  glad  that  Anna 
Bess  put  me  on  the  scenery  committee  the  first 
time  1906  had  a  play.  Ever  since  I  left  Bryn 
^lawr  I  have  been  looking  for  the  things  I 
learned  that  were  "going  to  prove  useful  in 
after  j^ears."  For  the  first  time  I  've  hit  some- 
thing. When  the  boys  wanted  to  get  up  a  play 
I  showed  them  how  to  put  squares  of  canvas 
together,  tacked  on  poles  at  the  platform  end 
of  the  big  schoolroom.  I  marked  out  a  court 
scene  with  charcoal,  and  painted  it  in.     One 

[92] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

advantage  of  making  scenery  here  is  that  paint 
dries  quicker  than  it  did  in  the  cellar  of  our 
dormitory. 

I  economized  time  by  sewing  costumes 
while  the  boys  rehearsed.  It  was  the  most  un- 
imaginable sort  of  rehearsing.  For  the  play 
was  to  be  given  in  Turkish,  of  which  Jeanne 
and  I  understood  not  a  word.  All  the  same 
with  my  little  red  leather-bound  English 
Shakespeare  stuck  in  the  corner  of  the  divan 
near  my  lapful  of  sewing,  I  was  supposed  to 
criticize  the  acting.  I  kept  looking  from 
needle  to  book  to  actor.  Jeanne,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  divan,  was  following  in  a  French 
translation.  Hamlet  and  Ophelia  dashed 
around  while  I  put  ermine  on  the  king's  coat. 
The  boys  would  not  listen  to  cutting.  They 
were  game  for  the  whole  play — not  quailing 
before  scenes  that  Irving  and  Terry  could  not 
swing.  They  have  prodigious  memories.  We 
found  that  out  when  one  of  them  memorized 
Herbert's  entire  lecture  on  the  Rise  of  the 

[93] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Papacy,  and  gave  it  afterwards  as  answer  to  a 
question  in  term  examination.  Their  patience 
and  endm'ance  are  limitless.  They  never  get 
bored. 

Jeanne  and  I  were  back  of  the  scenes  on  the 
great  night  to  start  the  play  with  everybody 
dressed  and  bewigged,  painted  and  secm'ely 
hitched  together.  Clothes  had  to  be  sewed  on 
the  ladies.  The  boys  entered  so  fully  into  the 
spirit  of  the  thing  that  when  the  show  was  ac- 
tually on,  they  had  n't  time  to  think  about  their 
clothes.  My  red  Cretan  rug,  firmly  strapped 
to  the  shoulders  of  Hamlet's  mother,  made  a 
real  court  train.  (The  actors  had  practised 
not  to  walk  on  it.  Luckily  they  learned  this 
early  in  the  rehearsals,  when  Ophelia,  passing 
his  future  mother-in-law,  stepped  on  the  Cre- 
tan rug  and  "sat  down  too  much"  on  the  hard 
schoolroom  floor. )  Crowns  and  wigs  had  to  be 
anchored  with  adhesive  tape.  Ophelia,  young 
and  rather  slender  for  his  age,  was  capable  of 
the  martyrdom  of  forcing  his  feet  into  my  satin 

[94] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

dancing  slippers.  It  was  possible  only  when 
I  made  him  wear  my  silk  stockings.  His  own 
knitted  socks  were  much  too  thick  for  stage 
purposes  as  well  as  for  slippers.  A  school- 
room bench,  assisted  by  the  boxes  of  two  cro- 
quet games  and  covered  by  rugs,  made  a  pass- 
able throne.  The  stage  manager  was  dismayed 
when  he  realized  that  Doctor  Christie's  pulpit 
was  screwed  fast  to  the  platform.  I  discov- 
ered that  the  top  of  the  pulpit  could  be  re- 
moved, and  comforted  the  boys  by  pointing  out 
to  them  that  those  in  the  audience  who  had 
ever  seen  a  real  theater  would  certainly  think 
the  pulpit  was  a  prompter's  box. 

The  audience  of  students  and  teachers  was 
increased  by  the  parents  of  boys  living  in  Tar- 
sus and  local  Moslem  dignitaries,  the  Kaima- 
kam,  the  Feriq  and  the  Mufti. ^     They  were 

1  The  Kaimakam  is  at  the  head  of  the  civil  administration  of 
the  municipality,  the  Feriq  of  the  military  administration,  and 
the  Mufti  of  the  religious  administration.  Civil  and  military 
government  and  religion  are  all  closely  connected — essential 
factors  in  Turkish  society.  Constantinople  has  its  hold  directly 
on  every  community  in  Turkey. 

[95] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

delighted  to  come,  and  praised  our  school  and 
its  hospitality.  At  the  end  of  each  scene  they 
applauded  conspicuously.  The  Mufti's  parch- 
ment-like cheeks  wrinkled  to  expose  his  yellow 
gumless  teeth  in  an  appreciative  grin,  while 
the  Kaimakam  shook  hands  with  the  asthmatic 
Feriq  Pasha  until  his  Hamidian  decorations 
jingled  on  his  breast. 

Our  efforts  to  persuade  the  boys  to  cut  out  a 
part  here  and  there  were  in  vain.  They  in- 
sisted on  giving  the  whole  blessed  thing. 
Candied  almonds  and  glasses  of  water  passed 
around  in  the  audience  helped  to  keep  them 
awake.  The  atmosphere  was  hot  and  close, 
and  the  petroleum  was  getting  low  in  the  lamps. 
Between  the  first  and  second  acts  the  school 
band — all  individualists — did  their  favorite 
piece,  the  very  march  that  the  old  German  or- 
chestra leader  in  Philadelphia  used  to  play  at 
the  Country  Club  dances  just  after  the  last 
waltz  before  supper.  The  boys  put  the  vigor 
of  their  youth  and  the  enthusiasm  of  the  oc- 

[96] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

casion  into  their  playing.  I  was  glad  the  ven- 
erable Mufti  had  cotton  in  his  ears.  The 
place  was  already  so  full  of  people  and  talk 
and  lamp-baked  air  that  I  thought  the  floor 
of  the  dormitory  above  would  spill  down  on  us 
when  the  band  thundered  a  climax  of  horns, 
trombones,  drums  and  cymbals. 

As  the  play  went  on,  the  audience  did  not 
need  candied  almonds  or  music  to  keep  them 
awake.  Things  began  to  go  badly  for  Ham- 
let's mother's  husband.  People  stopped  fan- 
ning. The  dignitaries  moved  uneasily  in  their 
places.  With  heads  hunched  down  in  their 
shoulders,  they  kept  their  eyes  glued  on  the 
stage.  They  are  not  familiar  with  our  great 
William,  and  believe,  no  doubt,  that  we  in- 
vented the  play  as  well  as  the  actors'  costumes. 
Horror  of  horrors!  We  had  forgotten  what 
they  might  read  into  the  most  realistic  scene. 
An  Armenian  warning  for  Abdul  Hamid? 
The  assassins  mastered  the  struggling  king. 
He  lay  there  with  his  red  hair  sticking  out 

[97] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

from  his  crown,  and  the  muscles  of  his  neck 
stiffened  as  he  gasped  for  breath  while  his 
throat  was  cut  with  a  shiny  white  letter-opener. 

As  I  fell  asleep  last  night,  I  saw  the  three 
dignitaries  leaning  forward  frowning.  The 
Mufti  had  clinched  the  sides  of  the  bench  with 
his  thin  hands.  Could  they  be  seriously  dis- 
approving of  our  show,  because  we  killed  a 
king  in  it  ?  I  went  to  sleep  laughing  over  Doc- 
tor Christie's  story  of  the  way  the  authorities 
would  not  permit  him  to  teach  physics  in  the 
early  days  because  he  was  obliged  to  use  the 
word  "revolution." 

April  ninth. 

Last  night  Herbert  and  I  drove  on  the  Mer- 
sina  road.  We  love  this  drive  in  the  late  after- 
noon. It  leads  in  the  direction  of  home — 
straight  to  the  sunset.  Camels  came  towards 
us.  From  the  head  the  line  was  double.  As 
they  parted  to  the  sides  of  the  road,  I  said  to 
Herbert,  "Let 's  count  the  beasts.  You  take 
your  side  and  I  '11  take  this."     They  numbered 

[98] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

more  than  two  hundred,  all  laden  with  petro- 
leum tins. 

We  drove  again  this  evening.  Even  walk- 
ing is  proscribed  for  me  now.  I  can  go  out 
of  the  college  grounds  only  in  a  carriage,  and 
then  not  far.  In  a  Moslem  quarter,  on  a  road 
between  vegetable  gardens,  boys  threw  stones 
— the  first  time  it  has  happened  to  us.  As 
Charlemagne  was  nervous  and  reared  from 
being  hit  several  times,  Herbert  did  not  dare 
to  get  out  and  leave  me  alone.  There  was 
nothing  to  do  but  drive  on,  and  accept  the  ston- 
ing. I  was  hit  on  the  left  shoulder — a  big 
stone  it  was.     The  bruise  is  painful. 

•  •••••  • 

April  thirteenth. 
Could  not  finish  for  Thursday's  post.     We 
have  had  Easter  to  think  about — examinations, 
and  the  boys  going  off  for  their  ten  days. 

Miss  Talbot  has  come  to  stand  by  me.  Is  n't 
she  a  dear?     Imagine  a  soft-voiced  Enghsh- 

[99] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

woman  of  the  upper  class  being  a  trained  nurse, 
and  my  nurse — when  there  is  none  in  the  world 
for  me  to  turn  to.  It  seems  as  if  she  has  been 
dropped  from  Heaven  at  my  door.  Miss  Tal- 
bot is  a  woman  of  independent  means,  who 
studied  nursing  to  equip  herself  for  doing  good. 
She  came  out  here  to  Turkey  to  find  work  at 
her  own  expense.  She  is  going  into  mission 
dispensary  nursing,  but  thinks  just  now  that  I 
am  "the  duty  at  hand."     Lucky  for  me! 

The  annual  meeting  of  the  American  Mis- 
sion is  being  held  in  Adana  this  week.  It 
opens  to-morrow.  Dr.  Christie  and  Miner,  of 
course,  had  to  go,  and  they  persuaded  Herbert 
to  go  with  them.  It  was  a  chance  for  him  to 
meet  the  missionaries  from  the  interior,  and  get 
an  idea  of  mission  problems.  Herbert  was 
very  anxious  to  meet  the  missionaries  of  whom 
we  have  been  hearing  so  much.  They  are  to 
reach  Adana  overland  on  horse  from  Marash, 
Had j  in,  Aintab  and  other  stations.  It  is  the 
jubilee  year — the  fiftieth  annual  meeting.  The 
[100] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

native  Protestant  pastors  of  this  whole  field 
are  to  hold  a  reunion  at  the  same  time.  An 
important  question  is  coming  before  the  Mis- 
sion— what  to  do  with  the  orphanages  that  were 
established  after  the  massacres  of  1894-96. 
The  orphans  are  practically  all  grown  up  now. 

I  urged  Herbert  to  go.  It  is  only  forty 
miles,  and  he  can  return  to-morrow  if  we  have 
news  to  telegraph  him.  Miss  Talbot  thinks 
it  is  all  right,  and  her  being  here  reassures 
him.  He  needs  only  to  be  gone  one  night.  At 
the  last  minute  he  hesitated,  but  I  pushed  him 
out  with  the  others. 

As  we  said  good-by,  Herbert  stood  below 
me  in  the  school  grounds,  and  I  was  on  the 
steps  a  few  feet  above,  leaning  over  and  talking 
to  him.  Just  for  fun,  I  took  his  fez  off — a 
black  velvet  fez.  My  giggle  and  smile  died 
away  as  I  idly  twirled  that  fez  around  my 
finger.  Sometimes  in  the  sunshine  one  sees  the 
shadow  of  Islam.  After  all,  wouldn't  he  be 
safer  in  a  hat?  I  put  this  into  words.  Her- 
[101] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

bert  scoffed  at  the  idea,  but  he  humored  me 
and  went  to  find  his  gray  felt  hat. 

Must  go  to  marking  examination  papers  of 
my  rhetoric  class.  Can  you  imagine  me  an 
English  Reader  like  Miss  Marsh?  You  were 
afraid  three  lectures  a  week  and  two  rhetoric 
lessons  would  be  a  lot  for  me  to  manage,  but 
Mother  dear,  these  boys  are  hungry  for  an  edu- 
cation. I  long  for  a  copy  of  one  of  the  rhet- 
orics we  used  at  college.  Have  improvised  a 
text  book.  Coaxed  it  out  of  my  memory.  I 
averaged  two  hours  a  day,  typewriting  the  ma- 
terial on  our  Hammond.  The  boys  drink  in 
my  stupid  lectures  the  way  the  Cilician  Plain 
drinks  in  the  first  autumn  rains.  I  gave  a  stiff 
quiz  just  after  the  Easter  vacation.  I  am  con- 
tinuing the  daily  themes  and  the  critical  papers. 
I  have  learned  a  lot  from  the  boys  about  the 
fable  in  Turkish  literature.  Also  about  habits 
of  camels,  and  the  real  Abraham  Lincoln. 
Can't  you  see  me  rehashing  Bryn  Mawr  Eng- 
lish and  adapting  it  to  the  Tarsians  ? 
[102] 


THE  STORM  APPROACHES 

Wednesday,  April  fourteenth. 
Mother : 

This  afternoon  I  sent  Socrates  to  the  sta- 
tion with  the  buggy  (the  word  is  not  misused 
— we  have  a  real  American  one).  Herbert 
was  to  return  by  the  afternoon  train.  An 
hour  later,  Socrates  came  back  alone  and  told 
me  that  "bad  things"  were  happening  in 
Adana.  There  was  a  massacre  starting.  Yes- 
terday four  Armenian  women  were  killed. 
This  morning  there  was  killing  begun  in  vine- 
yards just  outside  of  the  town.  While  he  was 
telling  me  this  news,  a  telegram  mercifully  ar- 
rived from  Herbert.  It  read:  "Reviendrai 
demain.  Aujourd'hui  tout  bien/'  Herbert's 
French  is  far  from  what  it  might  be.  But 
[103] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

telegrams  in  English  are  not  accurately  trans- 
mitted in  Turkey. 

When  I  went  over  to  Mrs.  Christie's  sitting- 
room  for  afternoon  tea,  I  found  several  Ar- 
menian women  there,  among  them  the  mothers 
of  two  of  our  teachers.  One  mother  was  beg- 
ging for  permission  for  her  son  to  sleep  at  the 
college.  He  came  later,  bringing  his  precious 
violin,  which  he  asked  me  to  hide  for  him.  I 
put  it  back  of  our  bathtub.  The  other  mother 
was  in  tears.  Her  son  is  in  Adana  for  the 
holidays  with  his  bride.  This  poor  woman  has 
a  right  to  fear.  She  lost  two  children  in  the 
1895-96  massacres.  One  little  girl  was 
trampled  to  death  by  a  squad  of  Turkish  sol- 
diers. The  son,  our  Armenian  professor, — 
the  one  in  Adana — was  saved  with  the  greatest 
difficulty,  having  been  hidden  for  several  days 
in  the  dark  corner  of  a  mill. 

Excitement  grew  this  afternoon.  Patrols 
are  going  through  the  streets.  We  are  told 
that  this  is  done  to  calm  people.  The  unrest 
[104] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

is  showing  itself.  I  asked  Socrates  not  to  re- 
peat what  he  had  seen  and  heard.  Panic  is 
contagious.  He  was  unmoved  by  my  caution. 
He  shook  his  head,  saying,  "It  is  going  to  be 
very  terrible,  very  terrible." 

I  wish  it  were  not  Easter  vacation.  So 
many  of  our  boys  have  gone  to  their  villages. 
They  would  be  safer  here.  Dr.  Christie  and 
Herbert  and  Miner  would  not  be  in  Adana. 
If  this  had  to  occur,  why  not  when  college  was 
going,  and  we  were  all  together?  The  regu- 
lar routine  would  do  much  to  keep  minds  occu- 
pied. When  you  are  busy,  you  are  normal,  no 
matter  what  may  be  going  on  around  you. 


Thursday,  April  fifteenth. 
Mother  dear: 

I   was  n't   afraid   last   night.     I   slept   the 
whole  night  through.     This  morning  there  was 
quite  a  crowd  of  Armenians  in  the  school  din- 
ing-room.    They  look  to  us  for  protection  and 
[105] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

food  and  shelter.  They  are  terror-stricken, 
and  have  reason  to  be.  How  would  you  like 
to  live  in  a  country  where  you  knew  your  Gov- 
ernment not  only  would  not  protect  you,  but 
would  periodically  incite  your  neighbors  to  rob 
and  kill  you  with  the  help  of  the  army? 

Socrates  asked  to  be  allowed  to  go  to  the 
station  again  to  see  if  Herbert  came  by  the 
morning  train.  Off  he  trotted,  leaving  me  to 
my  sewing.  He  came  back  in  the  greatest  ex- 
citement. At  the  station  all  was  confusion. 
People  jumped  off  the  train,  and  shouted 
madly  that  the  whole  of  Adana  was  burning. 
Immediately  a  mob  formed,  and  some  of  these 
men  seized  the  buggy  and  made  off  with  it,  leav- 
ing Socrates  to  get  home  as  best  he  could. 
Henri  Imer  had  gone  over  on  horseback,  and 
he  had  a  bad  time  too.  His  horse  was  struck 
by  a  Turk,  but  he  succeeded  in  getting  away. 
He  went  right  to  the  barracks  and  found  the 
buggy  there.  Henri  secured  permission  for 
Socrates  to  bring  it  home. 
[106] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Another  telegram  has  come  from  Herbert 
saying,  "Tout  hien.  Retournerai  Tarsous  aus- 
sitot  que  possible^  peut-etre  pas  avant  demain" 

The  afternoon  train  failed  to  appear. 

Just  before  dark,  the  boys  of  the  Sub-Fresh- 
man class  who  were  spending  the  Easter  vaca- 
tion at  the  college  came  and  told  me  they 
wanted  to  be  my  bodyguard.  They  are  to 
sleep  to-night  on  my  balcony — the  balcony  on 
the  inside  of  the  building  just  outside  my  bed- 
room. Their  beds,  mattresses  and  blankets 
have  been  given  to  refugee  women  for  the  lit- 
tle children.  It  is  April — but  still  cold  at 
night.  I  have  taken  from  the  walls  and  floors 
all  our  Turkish  rugs — every  single  one  of  our 
treasures — and  spread  them  on  the  boards  for 
the  boys  to  sleep  on — or  under.  They  mean 
absolutely  nothing  to  me.  I  do  not  care  if 
they  are  lost  in  the  confusion. 

Johnny  tells  me  there  is  not  much  oil  in  my 
lamp.  I  cannot  be  without  light.  It  may  be 
needed  badly  in  the  night.  It  may  be  vital  for 
[107] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

me  to  have  light.  To  get  candles  and  petro- 
leum from  the  large  school-building  was  im- 
possible for  the  boys.  The  precious  things 
might  be  taken  from  them  in  the  crowd.  For 
our  compound  is  filling :  and  many  of  the  refu- 
gees we  do  not  know  at  all.  I  must  go  with 
the  boys.  I  shall  take  Kevork  and  Samsun  as 
well  as  Socrates.  To  be  without  Herbert  at 
a  time  like  this!  These  blessed  boys  of  mine 
are  splendid.  They  are  thoughtful,  devoted, 
courageous,  and  most  delicate  in  their  attention. 
I  could  not  be  in  better  hands.  The  best  in 
people  comes  out  at  a  crisis.  If  I  live  through 
these  days,  I  shall  never  cease  to  cry  out  against 
the  supercilious,  superficial  travelers,  who,  en- 
joying a  sheltered  life  for  themselves  and  their 
loved  ones,  say  mean  things  about  Armenians 
— even  that  they  deserve  to  be  massacred — 
that  massacres  are  their  own  fault.  All  I  can 
say  is  this :  May  God  Almighty  forgive  them 
their  judgments,  for  they  know  not  what  they 
say.  My  Armenian  boys  and  my  Greek  Soc- 
[108] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

rates  are  every  bit  as  fine,  every  bit  as  thor- 
oughbred, as  Anglo-Saxon  boys  of  the  best 
blood  and  training. 

I  am  back  safely — with  oil  and  candles,  too. 
Now  I  am  ready  for  what  may  come  in  the 
night. 

In  the  assembly-room  of  the  big  school- 
building,  some  of  the  refugees  had  gathered 
around  the  pastor  of  the  Protestant  Church. 
It  was  an  impromptu  prayer-meeting.  They 
were  singing  hymns.  I  do  not  understand 
Turkish,  but,  as  they  use  our  tunes,  I  knew  the 
hymns.  It  was  a  comfort  to  steal  in,  and  sit 
down  for  a  while  among  my  fellow-sufferers. 
Only  eight  months  ago,  when  we  first  came  to 
Cilicia,  and  went  to  church  up  in  the  Taurus 
Mountains  summer  place,  I  remember  how 
queer  these  people  looked  to  me.  They  be- 
longed to  another  world.  I  was  an  outsider. 
I  had  difficulty  in  understanding  some  traits  of 
their  character.  I  was  hasty  in  my  judgment 
of  tlicm — hasty  through  ignorance.  I  was  im- 
[109] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

patient  with  their  constant  fear  of  what  "might 
happen  any  time"  to  Christians  hving  under 
Moslem  rule.  I  had  no  conception  of  what 
"might  happen  any  time" — that  was  why. 
During  the  singing,  I  looked  up  to  the  ceiling. 
The  trap -door  brought  back  vividly  the  day 
when  Daddy  Christie  had  showed  it  to  me,  say- 
ing, "We  have  that  for  use  in  time  of  massa- 
cre." I  had  laughed.  The  constitutional  era 
was  here.  Those  were  things  of  the  past. 
Probably  it  is  a  mercy  that  youth  and  inexperi- 
ence make  one  refuse  to  believe  that  bad  things 
— horrible  things — which  have  happened  to  oth- 
ers may  come  in  one's  own  life. 

We  sang  softly  ( for  the  sound  must  not  get 
outside)  "Lead,  Kindly  Light."  The  hymn 
had  never  meant  so  much  to  me.  For,  until 
now,  there  never  had  been  "encircling  gloom." 
I  understand  now.  Because  I  need  the  Light, 
I  ask  for  it. 


[110] 


THE  STORM  BREAKS 

Tarsus, 

Friday,  April  sixteenth, 
Nineteen-Nine. 

Mother  dear : 

Men  came  here  to  tell  Mrs.  Christie  trou- 
ble was  coming.  Offered  to  send  a  guard  for 
our  gate.  They  knew  that  Dr.  Christie  and 
Miner  Rogers  and  Herbert — three  of  the  four 
men  of  the  mission  family — had  gone  away  to 
Adana.  The  fellows  were  Kurds.  They 
looked  like  brigands.  Mrs.  Christie  put  them 
off,  saying  we  were  not  afraid.  This  with  a 
calm  little  air  as  if  she  didn't  quite  realize. 
When  I  asked  her  about  it,  she  replied: 
"Didn't  you  see?  They  wanted  to  get  hold 
of  the  college  gate."  What  a  woman  she  is! 
To-day  with  Armenians  coming  to  us  in  greater 
numbers  every  hour,  I  say  to  myself:  What 
[111] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

if  the  Kurds  had  possession  of  our  broad  gate? 
From  our  study  window  I  can  see  the  Cilician 
Plain  stretching  on  and  on  to  the  Taurus. 
The  Plain  to-day  looks  like  a  monstrous  Turk- 
ish rug.  It  is  a  riot  of  color,  quantities  of 
poppies  and  irises  and  other  spring  flowers. 
Did  you  ever  think  of  this:  red  predominates 
in  Turkish  rugs? 

Last  night  we  learned  that  the  train  going 
through  towards  Adana  had  turned  back  at 
Yenidje.  By  this  time  one  hundi*ed  refugees 
had  come  to  us.  Massacre  seemed  imminent. 
Socrates  barricaded  all  my  shutters,  and 
watched  outside  my  door. 

This  morning  another  telegram  came  from 
Herbert  saying  that  he  was  detained,  and 
would  get  back  when  he  could.  There  were 
no  trains  in  either  direction,  so  we  knew  the 
whole  country  was  upset.  Rumors  began  to 
leak  through  about  the  terrible  times  in  Adana 
and  I  knew  why  Herbert  had  not  returned. 
[112] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

This  morning  there  were  more  than  five  hun- 
dred refugees  with  us. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning  we  heard  that 
Armenians  had  been  killed  at  the  Tarsus  sta- 
tion and  that  the  station  master  and  other  em- 
ployees had  fled.  Then  there  was  the  whistle 
of  a  train  from  Adana.  It  brought  a  wild  mob 
of  Bashi-bazouks.  For  concentrated  hatred,  a 
Bashi-bazouk  is  a  small-pox  germ.  I  saw  the 
train  vomiting  forth  its  filthy  burden.  The 
men  wore  no  uniforms.  They  were  dressed  in 
dirty  white  bloomer-things,  with  bits  of  carpet 
fastened  up  their  legs  with  crisscross  ropes,  in 
place  of  shoes.  They  looked  like  worn  out  rag 
dolls.  I  saw  them  gather  in  a  mud  colored  fan- 
shaped  crowd  at  the  flimsy  entrance  to  the  Ko- 
nak,  where  the  authorities  could  not  be  quick 
enough  in  passing  out  guns  and  ammunition 
and  other  instalments  of  the  Devil  to  every  one. 
Then  Hell  broke  loose.  The  townspeople 
joined  themselves  to  this  mob.  Along  the  road 
that  crosses  the  space  between  us  and  the  rail- 
[113] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

way  they  went  in  groups  of  fifty,  going  at  an 
easy  run  and  brandishing  their  arms,  uttering 
low  weird  howls  that  grew  in  a  crescendo  of 
rage.  They  made  for  the  Armenian  quarter, 
the  last  houses  of  which  are  only  one  hundred 
and  fifty  yards  from  us. 

Shooting  started  and  continued  all  day. 
Along  with  the  sound  of  the  shots  we  could 
hear  the  screams  of  the  dying. 

All  day  there  has  been  a  procession  of  refu- 
gees. They  seem  to  have  gathered  in  little 
groups  first,  for  they  came  in  a  few  hundred  at 
a  time  in  pulsation.  In  the  afternoon  they 
came  steadily.  Mother!  the  sound  of  the  feet 
of  the  multitude.  Some  poor  things  were 
wounded,  some  were  looking  for  husbands  or 
children  that  could  not  be  found.  They 
brought  nothing  with  them.  Sick  women  were 
carried  on  the  backs  of  their  husbands.  Little 
children  struggled  to  keep  up  with  panic- 
stricken  elders.  Children,  feeble  old  people, 
chronic  invalids,  the  desperately  ill,  were  pos- 
[114] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

sessed  with  supernatural  strength.  When 
they  reached  the  goal,  our  gate,  they  were  like 
the  Durando  we  described  in  the  Marathon  race 
last  summer.  A  big  fellow  in  the  meager 
guard  at  our  gate  was  a  host  in  himself.  He 
had  a  hearty  voice,  and  kept  waving  his  arms 
and  shouting,  "Come  in,  everybody.  Inside 
this  gate  is  safety  for  you  all !  Courage,  little 
children."  Occasionally  he  would  pick  up  a 
crying  baby  or  a  sick  woman,  and  help  them  in- 
side. It  was  the  one  cheerful  kindly  sight  of 
the  day — to  see  that  soldier. 

About  noon  from  Jeanne  and  Henri's  study 
I  saw  an  attack  on  a  house  very  near  us. 
There  was  a  low  hum  in  the  distance:  then  a 
roar,  and  on  the  second-story  balcony  twenty- 
five  Bashi-bazouks  climbed,  bursting  in  the  door 
to  the  house  of  the  richest  man  in  Tarsus. 
There  was  shooting  and  screaming :  then  flying 
bits  of  burning  paper  came  out  of  the  windows, 
followed  by  blue  and  red  flames.  By  opening 
our  shutters  cautiously  we  could  hear  the  cruel 
[115] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

hiss  of  the  flames  and  smell  kerosene  in  the 
smoke.  Then  the  rending  and  crashing  of  the 
floors  made  a  deafening  noise,  and  the  sparks 
began  to  alight  on  our  property. 

This  is  the  regular  order  of  things, — kill, 
loot,  burn.  The  Armenian  quarter  is  the  most 
substantial  part  of  the  city.  Most  of  the  peo- 
ple store  cotton  on  the  ground  floor,  and  this, 
together  with  liberal  applications  of  kerosene, 
served  to  make  a  holocaust.  Now  at  evening- 
time  we  realize  our  own  imminent  danger. 

I  have  made  tea  about  twenty  times  during 
the  day.  What  a  blessing  you  sent  those  pro- 
visions. Good  thing  we  chose  from  among  our 
wedding  gifts  the  chafing-dish  and  the  tea- 
basket  to  bring  along  on  our  journey.  I  have 
given  away  everything  I  could  spare.  Things 
to  drink  out  of  are  a  vital  necessity.  I  gave 
away  my  tooth-mug  to  a  thirsty  old  woman, 
and  reserved  as  my  drinking  cup  the  little  china 
affair  one  keeps  tooth-brushes  in  on  a  wash- 
stand.  It  stands  unabashed  beside  the  smart 
[116] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

little  silver  tea-kettle  and  spirit  lamp.  How 
I  miss  my  oranges.  Mother  Christie  found 
a  stray  one  this  morning  and  sent  it  in  to  me. 
The  boys  brought  some  charcoal  and  made  a 
fire  in  a  mangal  in  my  fireplace.  I  have  tried 
my  hand  at  a  pilaf.  Kevork  brought  some 
sheep-tail  grease  in  a  bit  of  paper  and  I  held  my 
nose  vi^hile  I  melted  it  and  poured  it  into  the 
jnlaf.  I  do  not  see  why  these  people  do  not 
cook  with  wagon  grease  and  be  done  with  it. 

Your  tins  of  condensed  milk  I  have  given  to 
Mary  Rogers  for  her  baby.  A  mother  brought 
her  two-year-old  boy  to  me.  The  poor  little 
thing  had  had  nothing  to  eat  since  yesterday. 
The  whole  Armenian  question  sums  itself  up 
for  me  in  those  big  brown  eyes  and  their  kin- 
dhng  with  sudden  light  as  I  held  a  bowl  of 
warm  milk  to  that  baby's  trembling  mouth.  I 
could  n't  make  him  smile,  though,  for  all  my 
coaxing. 

The  meals  of  our  immediate  family  are 
served  in  my  bedroom.  Mrs.  Christie's  house, 
[1171 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

the  big  dining-room,  the  school  buildings  are 
overflowing  with  refugees.  It  is  only  the  most 
strenuous  efforts  of  the  college  boys  that  pre- 
vent them  from  over-running  us  too.  I  have 
just  my  bedroom,  Mary  the  other  bedroom  for 
herself  and  the  baby,  and  Miss  Talbot  is  in 
our  study.  Jeanne's  extra  bedroom  eighteen 
women  have  managed  to  get  into.  Henri's 
study  is  crowded  too.  I  am  working  on  baby 
clothes  to  keep  my  mind  occupied.  I  am  mak- 
ing flannel  nighties :  there  are  hundreds  of  ba- 
bies out  under  our  trees  and  on  the  hard  asphalt 
of  the  tennis  court  without  one  change  of  cloth- 
ing. 

Dear,  dear,  here  is  a  woman  who  has  been  in 
terrible  suffering  all  day  long.  Her  husband 
and  brother  were  with  her  and  several  times 
tried  to  flee  with  her.  They  picked  her  up  a  bit 
ago  and  started  with  her  through  the  red  and 
black  streets.     Overpowered,  she  stopped  in 

's  garden  and  had  her  baby.     Wrapping 

the  baby  in  something  and  putting  it  in  the 
[118] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

mother's  arms,  the  men  picked  her  up  and  made 
the  final  dash  for  safety.  We  have  pulled 
the  buggy  out  of  the  carriage-house  and  made 
a  place  for  her  in  the  corner.  She  is  resting 
nicely  now. 

Socrates  came  to  me  and  said  that  friends  of 
his,  Greeks  hke  himself,  have  invited  him  to 
join  them  in  an  attempt  to  escape  to  Mersina. 
They  have  a  dead  Greek's  passport  for  him. 
He  asked  my  advice.  I  told  him  I  could  not 
take  the  responsibility.  Danger?  There  is 
little  choice — staying  here  or  trying  to  get 
away.  I  told  him  to  go  off  by  himself  to  think 
it  over.  He  came  back  to  tell  me  this :  "You 
are  alone.  If  you  have  to  run  away,  you  have 
nobody  to  go  with  you.  Professor  Gibbons — 
no  one  knows  where  he  is.     I  will  stay  with 

you." ' 

1  As  a  result  of  his  heroism,  Socrates  (that  is  not  his  real  name, 
but  never  mind)  has  been  our  ward  ever  since.  With  what  aid 
we  could  give  ourselves,  and  the  help  of  friends  to  whom  we  have 

[119] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Have  been  sitting  on  the  steps  leading  up  to 
the  rooms  of  the  Imers,  looking  out  over  the 
pathetic  throng  in  the  garden.  Kevork  in  his 
snug  little  coat  and  long  gingham  student- 
apron  has  been  sitting  beside  me.  "You  are 
hungry,"  said  he.  "Your  future  may  be  five 
minutes  long.  Your  husband  is  missing. 
Maybe  he  is  dead.  Those  telegrams  were 
dated  yesterday,  you  know.  Your  baby  is  not 
born.  You  cannot  defend  yourself  or  run 
away.  You  are  just  like  an  Armenian 
woman.  Tell  me  what  you  think  about  re- 
venge  f 

told  this  story,  Socrates  finished  his  college  course  at  Tarsus, 
took  a  year  in  medicine  at  Beirut,  and  has  since  been  studying 
at  the  Turkish  Medical  School  in  Constantinople.  Despite  the 
difficulty  of  communications  between  Paris  and  Constantinople, 
we  have  been  able  to  follow  him  and  help  him  without  interrup- 
tion during  the  years  of  the  war  in  Europe.  Socrates  will  have 
his  medical  degree  in  the  spring  of  1917.  He  is  a  loyal  Turkish 
subject,  and  has  done  splendid  work  in  ministering  to  the 
wounded  in  the  Balkan  War  and  in  the  present  war.  When  the 
Bulgarians  were  attacking  the  defenses  of  Constantinople,  we 
loaned  him  to  Major  Doughty-Wylie,  who  was  at  that  time  in 
charge  of  the  British  field  ambulance  work.  Major  Doughty- 
Wylie  recommended  him  for  the  British  Red  Cross  medal. 
[120] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Dostumian  hunted  wildly  and  fruitlessly  for 
his  mother  and  little  sister  among  the  crowd. 
Harutun  urged  that  he,  on  account  of  his  red 
hair,  would  not  be  taken  for  an  Armenian.  He 
could  find  them.  When  he  got  to  the  house, 
he  put  the  mother  on  his  back  and  ran  to  us  be- 
fore the  Bashi-bazouks  knew  what  he  was  up  to. 
When  he  took  the  mother,  he  hid  the  little  girl 
in  a  corner  by  piling  sticks  of  wood  on  her. 
Told  her  to  keep  quiet,  and  wait  for  him  to 
come  back. 

By  the  time  he  returned  to  excavate  the 
youngster,  and  had  put  her  on  his  back, 
and  climbed  to  the  roof  of  the  house,  the 
Bashi-bazouks  were  after  him.  Oh,  the  flat 
Oriental  roofs!  Harutun  skipped  from  one 
to  the  other,  taking  amazing  distances,  with 
the  child  on  his  back.  Danger  is  a  prod.  He 
got  to  a  place  on  some  roof  beside  which  a 
foreign  construction  company  had  set  up  a  pole 
in  anticipation  of  the  electric  lighting  system. 
Down  that  pole  slipped  Harutun.  He  ran 
[121] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

like  mad,  and  restored  the  youngster  to  her 
mother  and  her  brother. 

But  electric  lighting  companies  do  not  sand- 
paper their  poles.  Harutun's  hands  were 
cruelly  torn.  His  first  thought  when  he  began 
to  think  of  himself  again  was  to  come  to  me 
to  get  his  hands  dressed.  He  sat  down  on 
Herbert's  steamer  trunk  and  I  picked  out  the 
splinters.  I  washed  the  wounds  and  bound 
them  up  with  gauze  and  camphenol,  also  the 
palms  of  the  hands  and  the  wrists.  He  begged 
me  to  leave  the  fingers  out  so  he  could  work. 
The  boy  was  as  happy  as  a  bird :  for  it  flooded 
into  his  brain  what  he  had  done.  While  his 
hands  were  still  trembhng  from  the  pain  and 
excitement,  he  said,  "Meeses  Geebons,  I  am  not 
afraid  to  die.  Dying  is  as  natural  as  horning. 
But  before  I  die  I  want  to  kill  a  Turk — just 
one  Turk!"  If  his  hands  had  not  been  so 
wrapped  up  in  bandages,  I  could  have  shaken 
his  right  one. 

After  I  fixed  up  Harutun's  hands  I  was  kept 
[122] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

quite  busy  for  a  space  with  that  sort  of  thing. 
A  woman  came  and  asked  for  some  clothes  for 
her  baby  and  showed  us  the  only  dress  she  had 
for  him.  It  was  covered  with  blood — the  blood 
of  his  murdered  father.  One  dear  little  fellow, 
a  favorite  of  Herbert's,  came  to  me  with  a  gash 
in  his  head.  His  father  has  been  burned  to 
death  in  their  house  and  his  little  sister  is 
wounded  also.  I  prepared  the  bandages  for 
a  man  with  a  gun  shot  wound  in  his  neck.  He 
was  lying  just  outside  my  door.  Herbert  used 
to  joke  me  about  my  emergency  outfit,  saying 
that  there  were  enough  bandages  in  it  to  do  for 
an  army,  and  asking  how  I  ever  expected  to  use 
sterilized  catgut.  Eveiy  bit  of  that  outfit  is 
useful  now.     It  has  saved  lives ! 

Friday  night. 
Sky  red  with  fire.     Half  the  horizon  is  in 
flames,  the  whole  Armenian  quarter  is  burn- 
ing.    Our  native  teachers  and  boys  under  the 
direction  of  Henri  Imer  are  fighting  the  flames 
[123] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

valiantly.  The  sparks  are  flying  toward  us, 
driven  by  a  heavy  wind,  and  eternal  vigilance 
is  required  to  note  every  spark  the  moment  it 
falls,  to  quench  it  in  time.  The  blaze  is  so  bril- 
liant that  we  can  read  by  it.  A  telegram  came 
from  Herbert  about  eleven  o'clock.  I  signed 
the  receipt  by  the  light  of  the  flames.  I  can- 
not read  it.  It  is  a  mixture  of  Turkish  and 
French.  What  I  can  make  out  is  the  hour  of 
sending — this  means  that  twenty-one  hours  ago 
he  was  still  alive. 

Our  condition  is  becoming  desperate.  The 
fire  threatens  us.  The  fury  of  the  mob  may 
lead  them  to  attack  us.  We  are  sheltering 
more  than  four  thousand  refugees,  a  wailing, 
terror-stricken  mass,  all  trying  to  get  out  of 
bullet  range. 

We  have  not  been  able  to  get  any  word  to 
the  outside  world :  we  realize  now  that  Adana  is 
cut  off  and  we  feel  sure  that  our  husbands  are 
in  as  desperate  a  plight  as  are  we.  Word  must 
go  to  Mersina.  We  have  a  Turkish  hand-writ- 
[124] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

ing  teacher,  a  INIoslem,  who  is  faithful  to  us. 
We  have  sent  him  to-night  by  horse  with  Haru- 
tun,  the  senior  whose  courage  was  thoroughly 
tested  this  afternoon.  They  rode  into  the  jaws 
of  death  perhaps,  but  there  is  nothing  else  to  do. 
Not  only  our  hves  but  those  of  the  refugees  are 
at  stake. 

y  Nearly  midnight. 

We  have  prepared  a  few  things  in  case  we 
have  to  leave  the  place  suddenly.  Run? 
Where?  Somebody  or  other  remarked  grimly 
enough:  "Fix  only  what  you  can  carry  by 
yourself." 

I  came  into  the  bedroom,  and  here  I  sit  on 
Herbert's  steamer  chair.  The  wood  fire  has 
gone  out.  The  room  is  chilly  and  looks  so  very 
large.  One  candle  gives  such  a  little  light. 
The  big  blue  rugs  have  been  carried  off  for 
bedding.  How  bare  the  place  seems.  Oh, 
how  lonelj^ !  The  chafing-dish  stands  there  un- 
washed and  tilted  crooked  in  its  stand.  I  have 
[125] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

torn  the  bed  to  pieces  to  get  a  blanket  for  my 
bundle.  The  baby  basket  all  dainty  and  wait- 
ing is  on  the  steamer  trunk  beside  our  bed. 
Will  it  cradle  my  little  one?  If  it  is  bom  out 
in  the  open,  at  least  it  won't  be  cold,  for  I  have 
taken  from  the  basket  the  knitted  blanket  you 
sent  me  and  the  package  of  fragrant  clothing 
inside  the  tiny  sheet.  For  some  time  I  have 
had  clothes  ready  there  for  after  the  first  bath. 
I  tied  up  the  bundle  with  our  double  blanket, 
but  it  was  too  heavy  for  me.  I  have  rear- 
ranged it  with  a  small  blanket,  tied  corner- 
wise.  In  it  are  diapers,  a  piece  of  tape  steril- 
ized and  a  pair  of  surgical  scissors  wrapped  in 
gauze,  a  length  of  uncut  flannel,  and  that  is 
all.  This  will  be  heavy  enough:  for  I  must 
save  Herbert's  thesis,  and  that  in  its  filing  case 
is  a  pretty  solid  weight.  Precious  thesis — it 
won  him  his  fellowship,  and  if  there  is  any 
future,  that  thesis  must  go  to  Paris.  Poor  lit- 
tle Mariam  out  there  in  the  carriage  house — 
how  I  pitied  her  this  evening.  Was  it  only 
[126] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

a  few  hours  ago  they  brought  her  in?  I  envy 
her  now.     Her  baby  is  born. 

My  reason  tells  me  that  this  bundle  beside  me 
is  necessary:  but  it  seems  futile.  Everything 
has  gone.  One  support  after  another  has  been 
removed.  Humanly  speaking,  the  fact  of 
safety  is  gone.  Am  I  cold-blooded,  that  the 
sense  of  it  remains?  Sufficiency  of  food? 
Gone.  Human  ties?  Gone.  No  sister,  no 
brothers,  no  mother,  no  husband.  Railway 
communications?  Gone.  There  is  no  Consul 
at  INIersina.  No  protection  from  my  own 
Government.  Did  you  ever  wonder  which  end 
of  your  life  you  are  living?  Kevork  was  right 
a  bit  ago  about  the  future  looking  five  minutes 
long.  ]\Iy  religion  has  suddenly  become  like  a 
solid  rock,  and  I  have  planted  my  back  right 
against  it.     Religion  is  simple,  and  it  works. 

Tell  Herbert  I  have  not  cried  once,  that  I 

am  not  afraid.     Tell  him  possessions  mean 

nothing.     What  good  can  things  do?     There 

are  hundreds  of  gold  hras  in  the  safe.     What 

[127] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

good  are  they?     I  see  where  life  stretches  be- 
yond the  place  money  can  signify. 

All  this  time  I  have  boosted  myself  up  by 
saying,  "Don't  break  down  yet,  wait  for  some- 
thing worse."  If  you  wait  for  real  trouble — 
then  you  are  so  busy,  you  have  no  time  to 
worry.  My  religion  has  in  one  night  become 
vitally  subjective.  I  know — because  when  I 
reason  about  it,  I  marvel  at  my  own  calm. 
Shall  it  be  with  me  as  it  was  with  Elsie  Hodge, 
the  Bryn  Mawr  girl  who  was  killed  in  the 
Boxer  uprising?  All  day  I  have  been  think- 
ing about  her.  I  am  writing  this  and  shall 
leave  it  here — in  case.  I  cannot  write  the 
words  needed  to  describe  the  fate  of  women  in 
my  condition  at  the  hands  of  these  fiends. 
Maybe  some  day  I  can  tell  you. 

Sitting  on  the  floor  in  JVIary  Roger's  room, 

writing  with  my  paper  on  my  knee.     When  I 

left  our  room,  I  went  to  Herbert's  wardi-obe 

and  put  his  overcoat  on.     In  one  pocket  I 

[128] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

stuffed  Educator  crackers  out  of  the  box  you 
sent.  Some  fell  on  the  floor  and  I  left  them 
there.  A  wee  knitted  hug-me-tight  went  into 
another,  and  into  a  third  pocket  I  put  the  silk 
American  flag  Clement  gave  me  when  I  was 
married.  Miss  Talbot  is  lying  down  on  a  cot 
in  our  study.  Being  a  Britisher,  she  is  able  to 
sleep.  Before  I  left  her  in  the  study,  I  got 
out  the  filing  case  containing  Herbert's  thesis. 
I  put  it  down  by  the  door  here  in  Mary's  room, 
right  close  to  my  feet.  Then  I  lay  down  on 
the  floor  with  my  bundle  as  a  pillow. 

We,  from  our  darkened  room  where  that 
blessed  baby  Rogers  is  sleeping  quietly,  have 
been  looking  out  of  the  window.  Two  or  three 
Turks  pushed  a  pump  affair  up  in  front  of  a 
house  near  by.  "Humanity  is  not  dead  yet!" 
I  thought,  "they  are  going  to  try  to  limit  the 
fire."  The  water  streamed  from  the  hose  and 
it  was  kerosene.  They  soaked  the  roof.  Lit- 
tle fingers  of  flame  began  waving  in  the  wind. 
[129] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Heavy  black  smoke  is  hanging  over  the  town. 
We  can  feel  the  hot  air  and  smell  the  oil — 
like  a  gigantic  smoking  lamp.  Sparks  fell  on 
the  windowsill  just  now  as  I  stood  there.  I 
patted  them  with  my  hands  and  put  them  out, 
but  not  before  they  burned  little  holes  in  the 
wood. 

We  closed  the  blinds  and  sat  down  cross- 
legged  on  the  floor  and  talked  quietly.  About 
being  widows.  The  boys  must  soon  come  back 
to  us — either  that,  or  they  are  dead.  We  won- 
dered which  one  of  us  was  a  widow.  Perhaps 
both. 

Once  Mary  asked  me:  "Brownie,  what  are 
you  praying  for?"  "Goodness,  Mary,  I  don't 
know  what  I  am  praying  for.  Guess  I  have 
just  got  to  live  with  my  soul  opened  toward 
Heaven."  A  little  later  Mary  spoke  again, 
this  time  cheerfully,  for  she  had  thought  of 
something:  "I  know,  let 's  pray  for  the  wind 
to  change." 

Sure  enough,  it  was  blowing  in  our  direction. 
[130] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

We  went  to  the  window  again,  never  thinking 
of  danger.  You  cannot  consistently  keep  your 
mind  on  danger  to  yourself.  As  we  looked,  the 
flames  were  lying  low,  blue  tipped  with  yellow, 
and  reaching  towards  us.  We  concentrated 
on  a  change  of  the  wind,  and  there  was  a 
change.  The  flames  instead  of  lying  low  were 
vertical,  licking  and  swaying.  Then  they  lay 
low  again,  this  time  back  on  the  ruined  build- 
ings. This  may  have  been  coincidence.  You 
may  think  so  if  you  like.  But  I  believe  I  saw 
the  hand  of  the  Lord  come  down  and  forbid 
those  flames  to  move  farther.  ISTever  again  will 
I  have  to  be  reasoned  with  to  believe  in  mir- 
acles. 


[1311 


LIFE  AND  DEATH 

Tarsus, 

Saturday, 
April  seventeenth. 
Sometime  in  the  morning. 
Mother  dear: 

Once  that  wind  changed,  we  slept.  Mary 
and  I  slept  from  one  to  three.  Baby  Rogers 
is  a  good  little  chap.  Yes,  my  dear,  "I  laid 
me  down  and  slept.  I  awaked,  for  the  Lord 
sustained  me."  This  is  the  way  to  learn  a  text 
— live  it. 

When  we  got  awake,  it  was  daylight. 
Shouting  again  at  the  gate.  I  ran  to  my 
study  window  that  looks  down  into  the  street 
outside  of  the  gate.  Excited  men  were  push- 
ing and  struggling.  Their  cries  were  shrill. 
My  heart  sank.  Was  the  kilhng  to  be  renewed 
[132] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

under  our  eyes?  Then  Mary  said,  "They  are 
selhng  bread,  and  want  six  metallics  a  loaf." 
The  business  of  life  goes  on  in  spite  of  cata- 
clysms. Selling  bread!  In  the  midst  of  life 
we  are  in  death.  Yes,  but  in  the  midst  of  death 
we  are  in  life.  The  family  goes  home  to  din- 
ner after  the  funeral.  When  you  are  living 
the  cataclysm,  however,  your  vision  is  not  ad- 
justed to  the  small  events.  The  matter-of-fact 
things  are  happening  because  they  always  hap- 
pen and  must  happen. 

•  •••••• 

A  door  outside  slammed.  Then  the  door 
into  Mary's  room  opened.  In  came  Mother 
Christie,  looking  as  though  she  had  n't  slept. 
The  steel-rimmed  spectacles  used  indifferently 
by  herself  and  Daddy  Christie,  were  pushed 
away  up  on  her  forehead.  She  said  briskly: 
"Another  baby !  a  dear  little  boy,  and  not  a  rag 
to  put  on  him!"  I  went  to  my  steamer  trunk 
to  fetch  three  little  flannel  petticoats  and  two 
kimonos.  Down  jumped  the  spectacles  with- 
[133] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

out  her  putting  her  hand  on  them.  "No,  no, 
my  child,  I  cannot  take  them."  Before  I  had 
pressed  them  into  her  arms,  she  had  finished  her 
protesting.  Away  she  went,  murmuring: 
"Give  and  spend  and  the  Lord  will  send. 
That 's  what  you  think."  Well,  there  may  be 
time  for  me  to  make  more  petticoats. 

They  say  that  eight  hundred  houses  have 
been  burned.  Many  people  were  still  in  the 
houses.  If  they  showed  themselves,  or  tried  to 
get  out  by  windows  or  roofs,  they  were  shot. 
It  was  death  either  way.  We  fear  that  few 
Armenians  are  alive  in  Tarsus  outside  of  our 
compound  and  in  the  Catholic  Mission  nearby. 
The  whole  Armenian  quarter,  right  up  to  my 
windows,  is  burning.  The  bright  blaze  persists 
in  many  places  where  there  is  yet  much  to  feed 
upon. 

Saturday  afternoon. 

We  did  not  think  of  breakfast.     Mary  had 
fallen  asleep  again  after  nursing  the  baby.     I 
munched  biscuits  in  my  bedroom,  and  then  I 
[134] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

undid  on  the  bed  the  bundle  I  had  made  up  in 
the  night.  The  piece  of  flannel  might  be 
needed  sooner  than  I  could  use  it.  So  I 
stretched  it  out  on  the  mattress,  and  cut  four 
flannel  petticoats.  With  the  blinds  barricaded, 
my  only  light  was  what  filtered  through  the 
slits  in  the  shutter  of  the  side  window.  I  had 
to  keep  doing  something,  and  I  did  not  want 
to  go  out  to  talk  to  any  one.  So  I  found  my 
thread  and  thimble,  and  began  to  make  up  the 
petticoats. 

It  may  have  been  minutes  or  hours.  I  shall 
jjever  know,  for  I  had  not  looked  at  the  clock 
when  I  woke.  Suddenly  I  heard  cries  outside, 
that  were  taken  up  by  the  thousands  in  the  col- 
lege yard.  In  the  mingling  of  voices  I  caught 
my  husband's  name.  "Steady  now,"  I  thought. 
"Is  this  life  or  death?"  Then  Jeanne's  golden 
head  appeared  at  my  door. 

"Herbert 's  here,"  said  Jeanne. 

I  hurried  out  into  the  study,  and  ran  to  the 
window  with  Mary  and  Jeanne.  Daddy 
[135] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Christie  and  Herbert  were  at  the  gate,  sur- 
rounded by  regular  soldiers.  But  we  did  not 
see  the  tall  figure  of  Miner  Rogers.  Joy  and 
apprehension  were  strangely  mingled.  I  ran 
first  to  the  door  leading  to  the  balcony.  Up 
the  steps  came  Daddy  Cliristie.  Herbert  and 
Henri  were  behind,  evidently  trying  to  keep 
people  from  following  them.  Daddy  Christie 
said,  "Thank  God,  you're  safe:  where  is 
Mary?"  I  led  him  to  our  study.  People 
seemed  to  rise  up  from  nowhere,  crowding 
about  us.  Jeanne  had  instinctively  taken 
Mary  into  her  own  room,  and  Daddy  Christie 
followed. 

It  may  have  been  minutes  or  hours.  I  shall 
not  know.  After  the  lapse  of  a  few  hours,  it 
seems  to  me  that  I  am  writing  fiction.  Per- 
haps I  make  it  up  as  I  go  along.  Never  again 
shall  I  believe  in  the  accuracy  of  testimony 
given  on  the  witness-stand  about  what  hap- 
pened in  moments  of  stress. 

Turning  so  that  I  looked  towards  the  double- 
[136] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

doors,  I  saw  Herbert  standing  there.  Surging 
thoughts  went  through  me.  One  was  that  I 
must  not  let  these  emotions  reach  the  baby.  I 
dinched  will  and  muscles  to  safeguard  the  little 
thing.  The  other  thought  was  to  get  over  be- 
side Herbert.  As  I  made  my  way  through  the 
crowd  toward  the  door,  I  thought :  have  I  died 
and  Herbert  too?  What  was  that  I  suffered 
last  night?  How  can  I  know?  Then  the 
brain  in  my  head  told  me:  touch  him,  and  if 
he  is  warm,  it  is  not  death.  I  took  his  left  hand 
in  my  right  and  with  my  other  hand  touched 
his  face.     It  was  warm. 

"Where  is  Miner  Rogers?"  "He  is  dead," 
came  the  answer.  Herbert's  free  hand  reached 
back  of  him  for  the,  door-knob.  He  went 
slowly  out  on  the  balcony,  closing  the  door  be- 
hind him,  as  if  he  did  not  know  what  he  was 
doing. 

Herbert  has  no  recollection  of  this  meeting. 
We  figure  out  that  it  is  because  he  had  al- 
readj^  been  reassured  about  me,  for  he  dis- 
[137] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

tinctly  remembers  seeing  me  at  the  study  win- 
dow as  he  came  through  the  street  below.  The 
second  his  anxiety  was  reheved  about  me,  his 
mind  concentrated  on  the  terrible  news  he  and 
Dr.  Christie  were  bringing  to  Mary. 

I  turned  back  toward  the  room  to  realize  that 
Dr.  Christie  was  telling  Mary.  This  was  too 
much  for  me  and  I  went  into  our  bedroom  be- 
yond. One  sees  on  the  stage,  and  reads  in 
novels,  meetings  like  this.  Ours  was  not  dra- 
matic. It  was  natural  and  human.  Herbert 
was  entering  the  bedroom  from  the  other  door 
at  the  same  moment,  and  when  he  saw  me  he 
asked:  "Can  you  make  some  tea?  I  am 
hungry." 

I  investigated  my  washstand  to  see  what  I 
could  find  in  the  way  of  food.  Two  Turkish 
officers  had  followed  Herbert  into  the  bedroom. 
They  were  hungry,  too.  I  took  the  lid  off  the 
chafing-dish.  Inside  were  bits  of  bacon.  The 
officers  must  have  wondered  why  I  laughed — 
Herbert,  too.  Pent-up  feelings  were  ex- 
[138] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

pressed  in  that  laugh.  I  realized  that  I  had 
presence  of  mind  enough  not  to  give  bacon  to 
JMoslems.  The  pig  is  an  unclean  beast  to  non- 
Christians.  Typewriters  have  been  smuggled 
into  Turkey  with  perfect  ease  when  packed  in 
the  middle  of  a  box  of  hams. 

One  officer  was  the  Mutesarif  of  Namrun, 
where  wx  spent  a  honeymoon  month  last  sum- 
mer. He  came,  I  suppose,  to  assure  us  of 
his  friendliness.  You  ought  to  see  how  he 
drank  tea.  Just  like  a  Russian!  And  he 
stopped  eating  Uneeda  biscuits  only  when  the 
tin  was  empty.  The  other  officer  was  an  Al- 
banian who  spoke  French.  Herbert  had 
picked  him  out  in  Adana  to  bring  the  body- 
guard of  soldiers  that  he  had  compelled  the 
Vali  to  give  him.  Herbert  says  we  can  trust 
him.  He  is  under  Herbert's  orders,  with  the 
soldiers,  as  long  as  we  need  him.  Herbert 
had  no  time  to  give  me  details  of  these  days. 
He  went  out  with  the  officers  as  soon  as  he 
had  eaten,  after  telling  me  to  stay  in  my  rooms. 
[139] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Miss  Talbot  came  in.  Then  Jeanne  and  Mary. 
I  could  give  them  no  word  of  what  had  hap- 
pened in  Adana.     They  told  me  about  Miner. 

Herbert  came  back  soon  with  Daddy  Chris- 
tie. They  had  been  arranging  about  posting 
the  soldiers  of  Herbert's  guard.  But  they  said 
that  the  massacre  was  over,  and  no  attack 
against  us  was  to  be  anticipated.  What  they 
had  feared  was  the  fire.  If  that  had  driven  us 
out  in  the  mob —  But  why  talk  of  what 
might  have  happened?  What  did  happen  was 
terrible  enough.  Miner  gone,  and  with  him 
Mr.  Maurer,  a  Had j  in  missionary,  shot  dead. 
Herbert  and  Lawson  Chambers,  a  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
traveling  secretary,  were  down  in  the  town 
when  the  massacre  started.  They  did  not  get 
back  to  the  Armenian  quarter  at  all.  They 
telegraphed  Major  Doughty- Wjdie.  He  and 
Mrs.  Doughty- Wylie  took  the  last  train  that 
went  through  to  Adana.  The  Major  was  shot 
in  the  street.  His  arm  held  up  in  front  of  him 
[140] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

saved  him.  Herbert  says  he  left  him  this 
morning  in  bed,  and  with  a  fever.  Daddy- 
Christie  told  us  what  had  happened  at  the  Mis- 
sion and  in  the  Armenian  quarter.  Then  Her- 
bert began  his  story.  He  had  just  started 
when  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Some- 
one wanted  Dr.  Christie.  He  went  out.  In 
a  moment  he  came  back  and  called  Herbert. 
We  waited.  That  is  woman's  sphere — wait- 
ing. 

Young  Miner  cried  in  the  next  room.  Mary 
went  to  him.  What  a  blessing  she  had  that 
baby!  I  told  Jeanne  she  had  better  go  and 
stand  by  her.  Herbert  returned — alone.  He 
had  a  bit  of  paper  in  his  hand.  He  gave  it 
to  me,  saying  that  it  had  just  been  brought 
through  from  Mersina.  It  read:  "No  ships 
yet — massacre  expected  any  minute.  Cannot 
rely  on  authorities."  It  had  been  brought  by 
an  Armenian  who  reported  the  country  full  of 
Kurds.  We  seemed  safe  for  the  moment  in 
Tarsus.  Herbert  put  it  right  up  to  me.  The 
[141] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Albanian  officer  and  the  soldiers  were  under 
his  command.  The  train  he  had  seized  in 
Adana  was  still  at  the  station.  He  could  try 
to  get  down  the  line  to  Mersina.  His  coming 
— with  the  soldiers — might  stave  off  the  mas- 
sacre for  a  few  hours.  The  ships  were  bound 
to  reach  Mersina  soon. 

I  had  no  choice,  Mother.  It  all  seemed  so 
simple — the  only  thing  to  do.  It  is  still  life  or 
death,  and  we  don't  know  which.  But  we  do 
know  each  step  as  we  go  along.  I  put  my 
hands  on  Herbert's  shoulders  to  hold  myself 
up.  For  I  only  pretend  to  strength  and  cour- 
age. I  really  have  neither.  And  I  said  to 
him :  "You  are  all  the  world  to  me,  but  I  must 
remember  that  you  are  only  one  man  to  the 
world."  He  answered:  "Of  course.  That's 
the  way  it  is.  I  shall  try  my  best  to  get  back 
to-night."  He  kissed  me  and  went  out.  We 
would  both  have  lost  our  nerve  if  we  had 
talked  longer.  I  'm  glad  he  hurried.  I  threw 
[142] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

myself  on  the  bed  and  cried.     Then  I  remem- 
bered Mary,  and  was  ashamed  of  myself. 

Just  for  something  to  do  I  have  tried  to  go 
back  over  the  day  and  put  it  down  for  you. 
People  have  come  in.  When  they  saw  I  was 
writing  they  went  away.  Now  Mother  Chris- 
tie arrives  to  tell  me  that  I  simply  must  come 
and  eat.  They  have  managed  to  get  a  real 
meal  together — the  first  in  two  days.  It  is 
way  after  six  o'clock. 

April  eighteenth. 
Herbert  did  not  go  to  Mersina.  He  came 
back  last  night — or  rather  I  brought  him  back. 
At  supper — a  meal  of  sorrow — Daddy  Chris- 
tie received  a  telegram.  The  lines  are  work- 
ing. That  has  been  a  mystery  these  past  few 
days.  They  stopped  the  railway,  but  why 
did  n't  they  cut  the  telegraph  ?  And,  in  the 
midst  of  killing  and  looting  and  burning,  we 
have  received  telegrams  delivered  coolly  by  an 
[143] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

employe  who  stepped  over  the  dead  to  get  to 
us.  The  telegram  was  from  Adana,  stating 
that  the  British  cruiser  Swiftsure  had  arrived 
at  Mersina. 

I  felt  like  a  condemned  man  reprieved  at  the 
gallows.  But  had  Herbert  started?  A  little 
while  before  he  had  sent  a  soldier  up  from  the 
station  with  a  message  saying  that  he  found  his 
locomotive  gone,  and  had  been  trying  to  get  an- 
other out  from  Mersina  by  using  the  railway's 
private  wire.  He  might  still  be  there.  He 
need  not  undertake  the  trip  now.  Broken 
viaducts  in  the  dark — rails  torn  up — Kurds 
wildly  prancing  around  and  shooting  from 
their  horses.  I  said  nothing  to  the  others  at  the 
table.  I  slipped  quietly  out  of  the  room,  hur- 
ried up  to  our  apartment,  put  on  my  riding- 
boots  and  Herbert's  raincoat  ( I  am  glad  I  am 
pretty  tall — only  the  sleeves  needed  a  tuck), 
and  made  my  way  to  the  gate.  I  had  the  barn 
lantern  we  use  in  the  stable.  I  did  not  want 
to  risk  Socrates  or  any  of  the  Armenian  boys. 
[144  j 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

They  were  still  killing  stray  ones — especially 
at  night.  The  four  soldiers  left  remonstrated. 
They  could  not  understand  me  any  more  than 
I  could  understand  them.  They  tried  to  bar 
the  way.  But  they  did  not  dare  touch  me.  So 
they  decided  to  resign  themselves  to  the  inevit- 
able.    Two  of  them  came  along  with  me. 

It  was  a  weird  mile  with  only  the  lantern  to 
light  us.  One  soldier  went  in  front,  finding 
the  path,  and  the  other  was  beside  me.  From 
occasional  zigzags  I  suspected  what  we  were 
avoiding.  Mercifully  I  could  not  see.  Finally 
we  reached  the  station.  Herbert  and  his  of- 
ficer and  the  telegraph  operator  were  in  the 
little  ticket  office.  Herbert  was  at  the  end  of 
his  patience — he  just  could  n't  get  up  a  locomo- 
tive. When  he  heard  my  news,  he  was  very 
happy.  The  Albanian  officer  was  not.  He 
was  for  the  adventure.  Doubted  if  the  news 
was  true.  Why  had  n't  the  Mersina  operator 
mentioned  it?  Just  then  a  message  went 
through  for  Adana  about  a  special  train  for 
[145] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

the  British  Government.     The  operator  told 
us.    We  knew  then  that  it  was  true. 

Back  we  went,  all  of  us.  I  did  not  ask 
Herbert  any  more  about  his  interrupted  story 
of  the  days  in  Adana.  I  did  not  want  to  hear. 
He  did  not  want  to  tell.  We  found  a  funny 
story  that  had  been  sent  to  us  for  Christmas, 
and  of  which  we  had  read  only  a  few  chapters. 
We  reread  those — and  the  rest  of  the  book, 
laughing  ourselves  to  sleep  to  save  our  sanity. 


[146] 


WHY? 

Tarsus,  April  twenty-second. 

Dearest  Mother: 

I  have  been  sewing  and  helping  care  for  the 
wounded. 

Mrs.  Christie  gave  me  the  first  Rehef  money 
that  came,  a  Turkish  gold-piece,  worth  four 
dollars  and  forty  cents.  With  it  I  bought  a 
roll  of  flannel.  On  Jeanne's  balcony  I  fixed  a 
hand-run  sewing  machine.  There  I  basked  in 
the  sunshine  as  I  worked  on  baby  night-gowns 
all  day  Sunday.  When  I  tell  you  that  I  made 
twelve  nighties  in  a  day  you  know  the  machine 
did  speed-work.  Our  caldrons  are  all  in  use 
heating  water  so  that  mothers  can  wash  their 
children  and  their  children's  clothes,  and  take 
advantage  of  the  sunshine  to  dry  things. 
Every  time  I  finish  a  nightie,  it  means  another 
[147] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

baby  can  have  a  bath.  We  have  contrived 
sanitary  arrangements,  and  small  trenches  have 
been  dug  for  drainage.  Queer  the  Turks 
never  thought  of  turning  off  our  water.  It 
could  have  been  done  easily  through  the  sur- 
face pipes. 

Dr.  Peeples  of  the  Covenanter  Mission  was 
the  first  doctor  to  come  through.  He  got  here 
before  his  supplies.  I  shall  never  forget  his 
face  when  I  showed  him  my  table  with  the  Red 
Cross  kit.  He  appropriated  the  medicine-case 
and  some  bandages  and  marched  off  with  them. 
Dr.  Peeples  and  I  dressed  wounds.  But 
Mother  Chi'istie  stopped  that  on  account  of 
"my  condition."  Afterwards  we  compro- 
mised. I  installed  a  table  inside  my  door  and 
worked  away  preparing  medicines  and  dress- 
ings. I  handed  these  out  to  the  doctor  on  a 
tray,  curving  my  wrist  around  the  door- jamb 
and  so  was  spared  the  pain  of  seeing  the  pa- 
tients. I  do  not  take  stock  in  the  popular  no- 
tion that  I  might  "mark  the  child."  Only  the 
[148] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

pleasant  things  that  happen  to  me  can  touch 
that  child. 

The  arrival  of  the  British  battleship  Swift- 
sure  has  saved  Mersina.  Yesterday  the  com- 
mander went  to  Adana  by  special  train.  On 
his  return  he  stopped  at  Tarsus  and  invited 
Dr.  Christie  and  Herbert  to  accompany  him 
to  Mersina.  They  accepted  with  alacrity. 
Early  this  morning  Herbert  boarded  the  Swift- 
sure  and  had  a  chat  with  the  captain.  As  a  re- 
sult, the  captain  allowed  six  officers  to  come  to 
Tarsus  with  Herbert  by  special  train  to-day. 
We  had  them  for  lunch  and  took  them  all 
over  the  city,  showing  them  the  work  of  the 
mob.  When  the  refugee  children  saw  these 
officers  arrive,  the  poor  kiddies  were  terrified. 
Many  ran  and  hid,  and  the  wee  ones  found  their 
mothers  as  quickly  as  possible.  The  officers' 
uniforms  were  the  cause,  according  to  the  kid- 
dies' own  words.  How  is  that  for  proof  that 
Turkish  soldiery  helped  in  the  massacring! 

We  believe  that  one  hundred  were  killed  in 
[149] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Tarsus  and  four  hundred  in  villages  nearby. 
Adana's  murders  are  in  the  thousands.  The 
killing  of  Miner  brings  the  tragedy  right  into 
our  mission  family.  Mary  is  sup ernatur ally 
calm  and  brave.  Not  only  does  she  do  every- 
thing for  her  baby,  but  she  is  in  the  midst  of  all 
the  relief  work. 

While  Herbert  was  in  Mersina,  Mrs.  Dodds 
of  the  Covenanter  Mission  urged  him  to  take 
me  there  so  as  to  get  me  away  from  the  danger 
of  contracting  some  disease.  She  also  urged 
that  the  discomfort  of  our  now  crowded  quar- 
ters at  Tarsus  was  not  good  for  me.  We  have 
nearly  five  thousand  refugees  on  the  college 
grounds.  If  railroad  communication  is  re- 
established before  my  baby  comes,  we  are  go- 
ing to  accept  the  invitation  of  Mrs.  Dodds.  I 
do  not  know  from  day  to  day  and  cannot  plan. 

Mother,  if  I  am  not  ready  for  the  skeptics, 
and  for  those  who  smile  and  jeer,  yes,  jeer  is 
the  word,  at  missionaries!  The  stick-in-the- 
muds  who  thought  we  came  all  this  long  way 
[150] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

because  we  wanted  adventure  must  be  wagging 
their  narrow  little  heads  and  wagering  that  we 
are  getting  more  than  we  bargained  for.  I  am 
a  great  believer  in  letting  every  one  have  his 
point  of  view.  But  generally  one  finds  that  the 
people  who  boast  that  they  are  liberal  and 
broad-minded  are  the  most  bigoted  people  on 
earth.  They  assert  their  point  of  view,  but  are 
unwilling  to  admit  another's  right  to  his.  One 
does  not  have  to  believe  in  missions  or  want  to 
be  a  missionary.  But  one  does  not  have  to  ridi- 
cule missionary  effort  and  missionaries,  either. 
Among  the  missionaries  here,  women  as  well  as 
men,  not  a  single  one  has  shown  the  white 
feather.  Quite  the  contrary,  I  doubt  if  any 
other  score  of  Americans  in  the  United  States 
would  have  upheld  better  the  glorious  traditions 
of  our  race  for  coolness,  resourcefulness,  and 
ability  to  grapple  suddenly  with  a  crisis.  The 
American  women  here  are  made  of  the  same 
stuff  as  my  several  times  great-grandmother  in 
Lebanon  Valley,  who  carried  the  gun  around 
[151] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

the  room  together  with  the  broom  as  she  did  her 
sweeping. 

I  can  never  think  of  the  Armenians  without 
a  stirring  of  the  heart  in  affection  and  admira- 
ation.  How  can  Americans  resist  the  call  to 
help  people  who  have  the  courage  to  die  for 
their  faith?  One  has  to  be  brought  to  their 
level  of  suffering,  to  be  put  into  the  situation 
in  which  they  have  lived  during  centuries  of 
Turkish  oppression,  to  understand  them. 
Mother,  they  are  heroes — these  Armenians, 
children  and  grand-children  of  heroes.  '  It  is 
nothing  spectacular  that  they  have  done,  except 
in  periods  of  massacre  like  this.  But  all 
along  they  have  kept  the  faith,  they  have  pre- 
served their  distinct  nationality,  when  an  easy 
path  lay  before  them,  were  they  willing  to  turn 
from  Christ  to  Mohammed.  I  see  now  so  viv- 
idly what  they  have  been  born  to,  what  they 
grow  up  from  early  childhood  fearing.  Is  not 
the  greatest  heroism  in  the  world  the  silent  en- 
dm'ance  of  oppression  that  cannot  be  remedied, 
[152] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

the  bending  of  the  neck  to  the  yoke  when  there 
is  no  other  way,  the  living  along  normally  un- 
der the  shadow  of  a  constant  and  justified  fear 
of  death  and  worse  ? 

What  saved  the  Tarsians  the  other  night? 
Any  dread  of  international  complications? 
Any  respect  for  our  Government?  What  do 
the  Kurds  know  about  us?  Nothing.  Last 
summer  when  we  were  camping  far  up  in  the 
Taurus  mountains  above  the  timber-line,  a  fel- 
low of  the  type  who  has  been  doing  the  dirty 
work  for  the  party  in  power  at  Stambul,  came 
along  to  talk  with  us.  We  had  cliopped  down 
a  scrub  pine-tree  to  build  a  fire  and  were  sit- 
ting around  the  fire  after  supper.  We  were 
eating  walnuts.  I  offered  him  some.  With 
them  I  gave  salt.  He  took  both  walnuts  and 
salt,  touched  them  to  his  forehead  by  way  of 
thanks,  and  began  to  eat.  Socrates  expressed 
satisfaction  that  the  man  had  done  this — said 
we  could  be  surer  now  that  he  would  not  turn 
fierce  dogs  loose  the  next  day,  when  we  broke 
[153] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

camp.  In  talking  to  the  man,  I  asked  him 
what  he  knew  about  my  country.  He  was  a 
shepherd,  and  had  never  seen  a  town  bigger 
than  Tarsus.  He  rephed,  "There  are  a  great 
many  Americans  in  America,  at  least  five  thou- 
sand, all  very  rich  and  all  very  kind." 

What  saved  the  Tarsians?  St.  Paul's  Col- 
lege. Those  people  have  had  the  vision  held  up 
before  them,  and  some  of  its  light  must  have  got 
into  their  dark  hearts.  I  keep  thinking  of  the 
way  Jesus  forgave  people  because  they  just 
did  n't  know  what  they  were  doing.  I  do  not 
believe  for  a  minute  that  it  was  the  American 
flag  that  saved  the  Christian  population  of  this 
town.  The  Stars  and  Stripes  mean  nothing 
to  them.  It  is  the  way  Daddy  and  Mother 
Christie  have  lived  before  these  Turks  all  these 
years  that  did  it. 

Listen  to  this,  and  you  will  see  what  I  mean. 
Three  hundred  refugees  owe  their  Hves  di- 
rectly to  one  act  of  thoughtful  kindness. 
Sometime  before  the  massacre,  Dr.  Christie 
[154] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

heard  that  the  only  son  of  a  village  Sheik  had 
died.  He  got  on  his  horse  and  went  straight 
out  to  comfort  the  old  father.  The  news  came 
late  in  the  day,  so  that  Daddy  Christie  was 
obliged  to  make  the  trip  in  the  night.  I  have 
seen  the  Sheik  several  times  myself.  He  came 
one  day  and  invited  Herbert  and  me  to  go 
hunting  with  him.  He  is  a  superb  specimen. 
In  the  midst  of  the  heat  and  hatred  of  last 
Friday,  the  Sheik  appeared  with  some  three 
hundred  Armenians.  The  order  to  massacre 
had  come,  "and  a  massacre  is  good  hunting,  you 
know,"  he  blandly  remarked.  "As  I  was  about 
to  go  forth,  I  reflected  that  the  people  here  were 
Dr.  Christie's  friends.  Cannot  see  why  you 
like  them,"  he  added,  "but  seeing  you  do,  here 
they  are."  The  old  man,  of  course,  is  a  Mos- 
lem. He  told  us  he  found  some  of  those  he 
brought  in  hiding  in  the  swamps,  not  far  from 
his  home,  "lying  in  the  water,  with  just  their 
noses  sticking  out  to  breathe,"  he  laughingly 
explained. 

[155] 


ABDUL  HAMID'S  LAST  DAY 

Mersina, 

April  twenty -fifth. 
Mother  dear: 

I  wish  you  knew  right  now  that  we  are  at  the 
Dodds  in  Mersina.  It  would  reheve  your 
mind  of  anxiety  that  must  be  weighing  on  you. 
But  we  cannot  send  an  optimistic,  reassuring 
cablegram.  In  the  iii'st  place  it  would  not  be 
true.  Then  no  message  must  go  out  whose 
chance  publication  in  the  newspapers  would 
tend  to  make  the  world  believe  that  danger 
here  is  passed.  The  Powers  might  relax  what 
diplomatic  pressure  they  are  exercising  at 
Constantinople — might  even  recall  warships  or 
stop  others  that  we  hear  are  coming.  Her- 
bert is  getting  out  the  news  by  smuggling  to 
Cyprus.  He  feels  the  responsibility  of  every 
[156] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

word  that  is  telegraphed.  So  we  send  you  no 
message  at  all.  There  is  still  fear  of  a  second 
and  a  worse  outbreak.  The  massacre  is  not 
over  yet. 

Early  yesterday  morning  we  learned  that  a 
train  would  go  down  the  line  to  Mersina  at  the 
usual  hour.  I  packed  what  baby  things  I  had 
left,  and  a  steamer  trunk  with  a  few  of  our 
clothes.  Miss  Talbot  said  she  was  ready.  My 
Armenian  physician  saw  that  the  chance  was 
excellent  to  get  to  the  coast  in  our  company. 
He  had  a  valid  reason  for  accompanying  me. 
We  took  his  whole  family  under  our  wing. 
His  brother,  a  boy  just  turning  into  the  twen- 
ties, has  lost  his  mind — we  hope  only  tempo- 
rarily— as  a  result  of  the  strain  we  have  been 
under.  The  boy  got  it  in  his  head  that  I  alone 
could  save  him.  He  has  been  camping  outside 
our  door,  and  fumbling  with  our  shutters  at 
night.  My  Sub-Freshmen  kept  an  eye  on 
him,  but  I  have  had  to  humor  him.  As  he  is 
my  physician's  brother,  and  there  has  been  no 
[157] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

way  of  secluding  him,  I  have  had  to  do  this. 
The  boy  insisted  on  sitting  in  my  compartment 
on  the  journey  yesterday.  He  kept  me  in 
sight.  Once  arrived  in  Mersina,  they  were 
able  to  take  him  away  to  a  friend's  house. 

We  reached  Mersina  in  time  for  lunch,  where 
Mrs.  Dodds — the  soul  of  kindness  and  solici- 
tude— had  kept  rooms  for  us  in  her  apartment. 
Mrs.  Dodds'  little  daughter,  Mary,  is  a  wonder- 
ful child — just  like  her  mother  in  wanting  to 
be  constantly  doing  things  for  other  people. 
The  atmosphere  of  this  home  is  so  sweet  and 
wholesome  that  it  makes  me  proud  of  my  Cove- 
nanter ancestry  and  wonder  if  certain  religious 
beliefs  I  have  always  thought  were  narrow  and 
absurd  have  not  their  place  and  their  reason. 
I  asked  Herbert  about  Covenanters  last  night, 
and  found  that  he  knew  less  than  I  did.  For 
a  parson  just  out  of  Princeton  Seminary,  my 
husband  is  astonishingly  ignorant  of  theology. 
He  doesn't  seem  to  know  or  care  any  more 
about  doctrines  than  I  do.  Until  last  night, 
[158] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

we  had  never  talked  about  theology,  and  then 
the  conversation  languished  after  a  few  sen- 
tences. 

Just  after  lunch  two  Turkish  transports  ap- 
peared off  Mersina.  They  came  inside  the  line 
of  warships,  and  began  to  disembark  troops  in 
the  barges  that  went  out  immediately  to  gi-eet 
them.  From  the  windows  of  the  Dodds'  liv- 
ing-room we  could  see  the  barges  returning 
laden  with  soldiers.  My  eyes  would  not  shut 
tight  enough  to  dim  the  flash  of  the  sunshine  on 
the  waves  and  on  the  blood-red  f  ezzes.  Herbert 
declared  that  he  must  go  down  to  the  scala  to 
see  them  land.  I  did  not  want  to  prevent  him, 
for  I  felt  just  as  he  did.  Why  could  n't  I  go 
too?  It  did  n't  seem  to  be  "just  the  thing  for 
one  in  my  condition,"  but  you  know,  Mother, 
that  I  can't  live  without  exercise,  and  I  have 
been  impressing  now  for  nearly  a  year  upon 
Herbert  two  things :  that  I  need  out-of-doors  as 
much  as  a  fish  needs  water;  and  that  I  can  go 
anywhere  and  do  anything  he  does.  I  shall 
[159] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

never  let  him  get  the  idea  into  his  head  that  I 
am  barred  from  phases  of  his  hfe  just  because  I 
am  a  woman !  Not  a  bit  of  it !  Herbert  had  to 
take  his  wife  along. 

A  disreputable  looking  lot  they  were,  wretch- 
edly clad  and  shod,  and  topped  off  with  mussy, 
faded  f ezzes.  We  were  told  that  they  had  come 
from  Beirut  to  restore  order  in  Cilicia.  They 
had  taken  part  in  the  Macedonian  movement 
last  summer,  and  were  regiments  whose  officers 
adhered  to  the  "Young  Turk"  movement,  and 
could  be  relied  upon  to  check  any  attempt  to  re- 
new the  massacres.  There  was  much  efferves- 
cence in  the  town.  Groups  were  talking 
excitedly.  Herbert  and  I  were  crazy  for 
news.  The  last  we  heard  was  that  Mahmud 
Shevket  Pasha's  army  was  moving  on  Constan- 
tinople. The  regiments  lined  the  main  street 
on  the  way  to  the  railway  station.  Something 
was  going  on — we  could  not  tell  what.  Sud- 
denly they  cheered — all  together.  The  cheer- 
ing was  taken  up  by  the  crowd.  The  band  be- 
[160] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

gan  to  play.  The  regiments  wheeled  from  at- 
tention, and  continued  their  march. 

We  went  into  a  Greek  shop.  "What  does  all 
this  mean?"  we  asked.  The  proprietor  eyed  us 
in  astonisliment.  "Don't  you  understand?"  he 
answered.  "Abdul  Hamid  has  been  deposed, 
and  his  imprisoned  brother  proclaimed  sultan. 
The  soldiers  are  cheering  for  Mohammed  V. 
The  authorities  here  kept  back  the  news. 
They  did  n't  want  to  make  the  announcement 
until  the  troops  unquestionably  loyal  to  the 
New  Regime  were  landed." 

There  was  much  anxiety  during  the  rest  of 
the  afternoon.  The  Christians  were  nervous, 
Greeks  and  Syrians  as  well  as  Armenians. 
The  British  have  landed  a  few  marines,  and 
established  a  wig-wag  station  on  top  of  a  house 
near  us.  People  began  to  come  for  refuge  to 
the  American  mission  at  nightfall. 

We  have  rumors  of  a  second  massacre  at 
Adana  this  morning. 

[161] 


THE  YOUNG  TURKS  AND  THE 
TOY  FLEET 

Mersina, 

April  twenty -ninth. 
Dear  Mother : 

I  suppose  that  baby  doesn't  come  because 
I  'm  too  busy  and  the  time  is  not  propitious. 
There  are  more  important  things  to  think  about 
and  to  do.  Sounds  unmaternal  and  abnormal, 
does  n't  it?  But  just  hke  other  girls  I  had  my 
dreams  of  how  these  days  of  waiting  would  be. 
And  up  to  several  weeks  ago  I  plied  the  needle 
vigorously,  and  thought  a  lot  about  how  many 
of  each  wee  garment  would  be  necessary,  and 
what  sort  of  blanket  would  wash  best.  I  hesi- 
tated a  long  time  before  deciding  which  dress 
was  the  prettiest  for  IT  to  be  baptized  in. 
Now  I  don't  know  how  many  garments  I  have. 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

I  have  n't  even  made  a  complete  inventory  of 
what  we  brought  from  Tarsus.  We  are  too  en- 
grossed in  the  duties  and  problems  that  each 
day  brings  forth  to  think  at  all  about  the  mor- 
row. Honestly,  Mother,  during  the  four  days 
we  have  been  in  Mersina,  maternity  has  n't  had 
much  of  a  place  in  my  mind — I  mean,  of  course, 
my  own  maternity.  Heaven  knows  we  have 
the  babies  coming  in  abundance  all  the  time 
around  us,  and  there  is  everything  to  be  done 
for  them. 

I  wrote  you  of  the  landing  of  the  Turkish 
regiments  from  Beirut  on  the  day  we  learned 
of  Abdul  Hamid's  deposition.  They  went  to 
Adana  the  same  day,  and  started  that  night 
a  second  massacre  more  terrible  than  the  first. 
The  Armenians  had  given  up  their  arms.  On 
the  advice  of  the  foreign  naval  officers — trust- 
ing in  the  warships  here  at  Mersina — they  ac- 
cepted the  assurance  of  the  Government  that 
the  "rioting"  was  over.  So  they  were  defense- 
less when  the  Young  Turk  regiments  came. 
[163] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

The  butchery  was  easier.  I  spare  you  details. 
I  wish  to  God  I  could  have  spared  them  to 
myself.  Most  of  our  Adana  friends  who  es- 
caped the  first  massacre  must  have  been  killed 
since  last  Saturday.  The  few  who  have 
reached  Mersina  are  like  the  messengers  that 
came  to  Job.  Adana  is  still  hell.  The  soldiers 
set  fire  to  the  French  Mission  buildings,  and 
are  going  each  night  after  other  foreign  prop- 
erty. The  American  Girls'  Boarding  School 
was  evacuated.  The  teachers  and  some  girls 
who  were  saved  arrived  yesterday,  and  are  with 
us.  One  of  our  American  teachers  has  t^'^- 
phoid,  and  reached  us  on  a  stretcher. 

Herbert  brought  me  here  from  Tarsus  to  get 
away  from  the  contagion  that  might  come  from 
the  crowding  of  refugees  in  our  compound. 
It  is  now  worse  here  than  it  was  in  Tarsus. 
And  this  morning  word  came  to  us  that  we 
must  be  ready  at  any  moment  to  move  to  the 
French  Consulate.  The  captains  of  the  war- 
ships had  a  meeting  last  night,  and  decided  to 
[164] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

defend  the  French  and  German  consulates  in 
case  of  trouble.  They  notified  the  local  au- 
thorities that  if  killing  began  in  Mersina  three 
hundred  German,  French  and  British  sailors 
would  be  landed  with  machine-guns  to  protect 
foreigners.  The  idea  is  to  gather  the  foreign- 
ers together,  and  let  the  Armenians  and  other 
native  Christians  shift  for  themselves.  Of 
course  we  could  not  enter  into  any  such  scheme 
as  that.  The  Dodds  would  under  no  circum- 
stances desert  those  who  have  taken  refuge 
with  them.  Anyway,  we  Americans  are  in- 
vited only  by  courtesy.  Ships  of  the  other 
Great  Powers  are  here.  American  ships  are 
supposed  to  be  en  route.  But  we  have  not 
seen  them  yet.  We  wonder  if  the  new  Admin- 
istration is  going  to  continue  the  supine  policy 
of  Mr.  Roosevelt,  who  always  refused  to  do 
anything  for  Americans  and  American  inter- 
ests in  this  part  of  the  world.  I  used  to  think 
that  missionaries  looked  to  Washington  for 
help  and  protection.  Now  I  know  that  the 
[165] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

United  States  is  known  in  Turkey  only  by  the 
missionaries.  If  our  flag  has  any  prestige  or 
honor,  it  is  due  to  men  Hke  Daddy  Christie, 
and  not  to  the  Embassy  in  Constantinople  or 
the  few  Consuls  scattered  here  and  there. 

At  the  station,  soldiers  are  turning  back  the 
Armenians  who  have  managed  to  slip  into 
trains  at  Adana  and  Tarsus.  From  a  long  dis- 
tance one  can  see,  when  riding  in  the  train,  the 
warships  in  the  harbor,  flying  the  flags  of  the 
"protecting"  Powers,  whose  obligation  to  make 
secure  life  and  liberty  for  Armenians  was 
solemnly  entered  into  by  the  Treaty  of  Berlin. 
Otie  does  not  expect  much  of  Russia :  the  treaty 
was  imposed  upon  her.  But  England,  France, 
Germany,  Austria,  Italy — they  all  have  war- 
ships at  Mersina.  Armenian  refugees,  fleeing 
from  the  massacre  at  Adana,  which  occurred 
right  under  the  nose  of  the  English,  French, 
Germans,  Austrians  and  Italians,  see  these 
warships  as  the  train  draws  into  Mersina  sta- 
tion. Turkish  soldiers,  of  the  same  regiments 
[166] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

who  massacred  them  three  days  ago,  bar  the 
way.     Back  they  must  go  to  death. 

Herbert  and  I  meet  the  trains.     We  look 
for  the  chance  to  smuggle  friends  through. 

We   got    H B through   yesterday. 

The  Swiss  stationmaster,  Monsieur  B ,  re- 
monstrated hotly  with  Herbert  about  allowing 
me  to  come  to  the  station.  "It  is  no  place  for 
your  wife,"  he  declared.  "There  might  be 
bloodshed  any  minute,  if  a  refugee  resists." 

But  I  held  my  ground.     I  knew  H B 

was  going  to  try  to  get  on  this  train.  He  had 
money  to  bribe  with,  and  could  travel  first- 
class.  Mother,  I  managed  to  slip  into  the  first- 
class  coach  just  as  the  train  stopped,  and  came 

out  the  other  end  leaning  heavily  on  H 

B 's  arm.     We  left  the  station  through  the 

waiting-room,  and  none  said  a  word  or  stopped 

us.     H B was      safe.     Herbert 

could  n't  have  done  it.  The  Turks,  for  all  their 
cruelty,  have  a  curious  chivalry  upon  which  I 

banked.     I  was  not  mistaken.     H B 

[167] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

kept  my  arm  all  the  way  to  the  Dodds.  The 
poor  boy  is  in  agony.  He  has  just  heard  that 
his  father,  a  wealthy  merchant  of  Alexandretta, 
was  killed,  and  his  mother  and  sister — well,  I  '11 
leave  it  to  you  to  guess. 

But  this  adventure  is  nothing  to  one  I  had 
late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  twenty-seventh. 
Herbert  had  gone  for  news  to  the  wigwagging 
station  the  British  have  established  on  a  villa 
just  in  front  of  Major  Doughty -Wy lie's.  I 
thought  there  might  still  be  some  oranges  in 
the  bazaar.  It  was  an  excuse  to  walk.  I  can- 
not stay  indoors — no  matter  what  happens.  It 
was  n't  far,  anyhow.  Just  a  little  way  down 
our  street.  As  I  was  returning,  I  heard 
"Won't  you  come  home.  Bill  Bailey,"  coming 
from  somewhere.  It  struck  me  as  curious.  I 
stopped.  The  whistling  continued  staccato 
and  insistent.  It  came  from  a  narrow  side 
street.  I  waited  until  the  patrol  had  passed 
along,  and  then  whistled  in  turn,  "Every  night 
the  papers  say,"  and  stopped.  Immediately  it 
[168] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

was  taken  up :  "There  's  a  robbery  in  the  park." 
I  decided  to  investigate.  Several  houses  along, 
I  heard  a  whisper,  "Mrs.  Gibbons."  Under 
the  stoop  was  an  American  Armenian,  whom  I 
had  met  during  the  winter  in  Adana.  He  had 
been  waiting  for  some  one  he  knew  to  pass  on 
the  main  street.  He  was  in  rags — had  worked 
his  way  overland  somehow  from  Adana.  He 
would  be  arrested  if  he  tried  to  make  the  Mis- 
sion. Patrols  were  passing  constantly.  I  told 
him  to  wait  where  he  was.  I  went  back  to  the 
Dodds,  put  on  Herbert's  raincoat,  stuffed  a  cap 
in  the  pocket,  and  returned  to  the  side  street. 
The  Armenian  refugee  could  cover  himself 
completel}^  in  the  coat.  I  told  him  to  pull  the 
cap  well  down  over  his  ears.  He  walked  back 
with  me.  It  was  no  trouble  at  all.  The  young 
man  has  money,  and  an  American  passport. 
The  latter  is  no  good  to  him.  As  he  can  pay, 
we  think  it  possible  to  smuggle  him  somehow 
aboard  a  ship.^ 

1  This  was  afterwards  done,  but  I  was  unfortunately  unable 

[169] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Almost  all  who  have  reached  Mersina,  how- 
ever, are  women  and  children.  For  the  men 
are  killed  on  sight.  The  refugees  in  the 
Dodds'  compound  are  of  my  sex.  They  are 
husbandless,  fatherless,  sonless.  Now  we 
know  that  the  only  difference  between  Young 
and  Old  Turks  is  that  the  Young  Turks  are 
more  energetic  and  thorough  in  their  massacr- 
ing. None  would  succeed  in  escaping  the 
dragnet  were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  Armenians 
look  and  dress — and  many  of  them  speak — ^just 
like  Turks.     Refugees  are  not  easily  detected. 

My  doctor  has  gone.  The  day  after  we 
reached  Mersina,  he  had  a  chance  to  get  passage 
with  his  family  to  Cyprus.  I  urged  him  to  go. 
I  had  Miss  Talbot,  and  I  could  not  have  on  my 
mind  the  responsibility  of  his  remaining  just 
to  take  care  of  me.  I  am  glad  he  left  when 
the  going  was  good.  Now  it  is  practically  im- 
possible.    The  scala^  from  which  the  little  boats 

to  have  a  part  in  it.     I  think  I  know  one  Armenian  who  believes 
the  U.  S.  A.  is  the  place  to  stay  forever ! 

[170] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

go  out  to  the  ships,  is  carefully  guarded.  The 
Young  Turks  are  taking  "strict  measures"  to 
put  down  "the  rebellion"!  Armenians  who 
try  to  escape  from  the  Adana  butcher's  pen 
are  hauled  before  the  court-martial.  Accord- 
ing to  the  Turkish  reasoning,  attempting  to 
avoid  death  is  proof  of  an  Ai-menian's  guilt. 

As  I  write  these  awful  things — a  few  weeks 
ago  I  should  have  called  them  incredible  things 
— I  see  from  my  window  the  half -moon  of  war- 
ships a  mile  out  to  sea.  They  ride  quietly  at 
anchor.  Launches  are  all  the  time  plying  to 
and  fro  between  ships  and  shore.  That  is  the 
extent  of  their  activity. 


[171] 


A  NEW  LIFE 

Mersina, 

May  twelfth. 
Grandmother  dear: 

I  think  it  was  old  Thales  (I  'm  nearer  the 
Greek  philosophers  out  here  than  I  ever  was 
at  college)  who  held  that  the  earth  was  noth- 
ing but  certain  elements  in  a  state  of  constant 
change.  Everything  is  changing  all  the  time. 
And  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth  have  the  same 
chance  and  luck  as  the  earth,  and  follow  the 
same  law.  It  is  well  expressed  from  the  stand- 
point of  the  moment  of  time  in  which  one  is 
placed  by  the  favorite  Turkish  proverb:  "This 
also  shall  pass !"  Typically  Turkish,  that  prov- 
erb: for  the  Turk  never  interprets  any  event, 
never  tackles  the  solution  of  any  problem,  ex- 
[172] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

cept  in  terms  of  himself  and  the  present.  Yes- 
terday is  hke  to-morrow.  It  is  a  waste  of  time 
to  worry  over  either.  In  crises  Turkish  philos- 
ophy is  excellent.  It  helps  a  lot  to  create 
nerve  and  maintain  fortitude  if  only  you  can 
keep  saying  to  yourself  with  conviction:  "This 
also  shall  pass!" 

Scrappie  is  beside  me  as  I  write,  in  the  reed 
basket  we  bought  from  the  Fellahin.  I  am 
propped  just  high  enough  on  the  pillows  to 
keep  my  eye  on  her.  I  watch  her  all  the  time 
to  see  if  she  is  really  breathing.  I  have  heard 
of  wives  making  husbands  get  up  in  the  night 
to  see  if  baby  was  breathing,  and  scoffed  at 
the  folly  of  it.  But  I  'm  going  to  confess  to 
you  that  I  've  had  two  panics.  Each  time  I 
assured  Herbert  that  this  happens  only  with 
first  babies,  but  that  does  n't  seem  to  mollify 
him.  There  never  was  such  a  fellow  for  sleep- 
ing as  Herbert.  However,  would  n't  it  be 
awful  if  the  baby's  covers  got  up  over  her  head? 
You  understand  how  I  feel,  don't  you? 
[173] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Miette,  "bread-crumb,"  is  the  name  Jeanne 
Imer  gave  Christine  in  prospect.  It  also 
means  a  httle  scrap  of  anything:  so  Herbert 
and  I  translated  it  into  Scrappie.  The  name 
had  the  advantage  of  being  non-committal  on 
sex.  So  Scrappie  she  is  to  us.  Perhaps  you 
will  give  her  another  pet  name  in  Paris.  But 
we  rather  like  ours — I  never  heard  of  another 
kiddie  having  it. 

The  birth  of  your  grandchild  was  not  a  whit 
less  dramatic  than  the  events  preceding. 
There  was  a  "situation"  right  up  to  the  last. 
I  wrote  you  about  the  plan  to  gather  foreigners 
in  two  defended  consulates  if  there  was  a  new 
massacre  at  Mersina.  The  massacre  didn't 
come  off.  We  should  n't  have  gone  anyway. 
Miss  Talbot  was  as  game  as  we  were  to  stay 
on  with  the  Dodds.  The  improvised  hospitals 
in  Adana  called  for  all  available  medical  men. 
The  ship  surgeons,  with  their  pharmacists,  all 
went  to  Adana.  The  Mersina  mission  doctor 
was  working  among  our  Tarsus  wounded.  I 
[174] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

was  altogether  doctorless.  At  daybreak  of 
Scrappie's  birthday,  Mr.  Dodds  swept  the  hori- 
zon of  the  sea  with  his  telescope.  We  were 
expecting  every  day  relief  ships,  with  Red 
Cross  units,  from  Beirut.  A  speck  developed 
into  a  steamer.  Without  waiting  to  ascertain 
more,  Mr.  Dodds  threw  himself  into  his  row- 
boat.  Two  husky  servants  of  the  mission  were 
at  the  oars. 

It  was  lucky  Mr.  Dodds  did  not  hesitate 
longer.  But  he  is  not  that  sort.  It  was  a  ship 
from  Beirut,  and  there  was  an  American  sur- 
geon aboard.  Doctor  Dorman  walked  into  my 
room  just  in  time. 

Everybody  in  the  Mission  feels  that  the 
placid  little  baby,  with  her  great  blue  eyes,  is 
the  symbol  of  hope.  Scrappie  knows  nothing 
of  what  the  wicked  world  is  doing  and  how  all 
around  her  are  dying  and  suffering.  She  is 
unadulterated  joy.  Miss  Talbot  tried  her  best, 
but  there  were  no  drawn  blinds  and  pale  wan 
mother.  Folks  came  in  to  offer  congratula- 
[175] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

tions,  and  make  a  fuss.  I  was  glad  they  did. 
The  refugees  in  the  compound  celebrated  by 
gathering  on  a  roof  below  and  singing.  Some 
were  sorry  for  us,  because  it  was  not  a  boy, 
but,  after  all,  if  Madama  wanted  a  girl — how 
queer  of  Americans  to  be  glad  to  have 
daughters ! 

No  one  around  the  Mission  had  time  to  cele- 
brate with  Herbert,  and  there  was  nothing  any- 
way to  drink  the  baby's  health  in.  Herbert 
went  out  to  send  telegrams  to  the  Doughty- 
Wylies  and  the  Christies,  and  the  cablegram 
to  the  Estes.  He  says  he  kept  saying  to  him- 
self as  he  went  down  the  street,  "I  'm  a  father!" 
It 's  like  men  to  be  proud  and  take  all  the 
credit,  which  just  now  I  think  belongs  to  me. 
Herbert  went  to  the  British  wigwag  station, 
but  the  sailors  could  n't  leave  their  post.  So 
he  had  to  order  a  bottle  of  beer  at  Flutey's  all 
alone.  Just  then  a  German  lieutenant  drifted 
in.  Herbert  told  him  the  good  news,  although 
he  had  never  seen  him  before,  and  he  drank 
[176] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

the  toast  as  sympathetically  as  a  young  bach- 
elor could.  ^ 

On  the  morning  of  Scrappie's  advent,  after 
a  hurried  breakfast,  my  doctor  rushed  for  the 
Adana  train.  I  have  n't  seen  him  since.  Nor 
any  other  doctor.  Miss  Talbot  is  superb.  I 
could  n't  have  better  care.  Mrs.  Dodds  cooks 
for  me  herself,  and  serves  my  meals.  She 
thinks  Miss  Talbot  is  over-careful  in  prescrib- 
ing my  diet.  When  Mrs.  Dodds  brings  soft- 
boiled  eggs,  she  whispers:  "Eat  half  of  this 
quickly.  Miss  Talbot  thinks  there  is  only  one, 
but  I  'd  hke  to  see  any  one  go  hungry  in  Belle 
Dodds'  house !"  Until  to-day,  when  I  am  first 
able  to  write  you,  they  kept  pillows  out  of  my 
reach — books,  too.  Herbert  is  too  busy  to  be 
with  me.  He  has  had  to  go  to  Tarsus  and 
twice  to  Adana.  Two  days  after  Scrappie 
came,  the  Major  telegraphed  for  him  to  come 

1  A  year  later  I  told  this  story  in  a  Berlin  salon.    One  of  the 

guests  at  tea,  Countess ,  exclaimed,  "Why  that  boy  was  my 

son.    He  wrote  me  about  it  at  the  time." 

[177] 


THE  RED  HUGS  OF  TARSUS 

to  take  the  witness-stand  before  the  court-mar- 
tial. Lawson  Chambers  had  gone  on  rehef 
work  in  the  interior,  and  Herbert  was  the  only 
other  foreigner  who  saw  the  beginning  of  the 
massacre.  It  was  a  risky  business,  but  I  have 
got  used  to  letting  him  go.  The  tragedy  is  too 
great  for  individuals  to  count — or  to  think  of 
themselves. 

With  Herbert  away,  and  Scrappie  sleeping 
most  of  the  time,  and  no  books,  all  I  could  do 
was  to  sing.  I  've  gone  over  all  my  favorite 
songs — and  many  that  were  n't  favorites  have 
been  hunmied  through  to  the  end.  I  refused 
to  be  deterred  by  the  fact  that  I  am  under  a 
roof  where  singing  is  mostly  confined  to  the 
metrical  version  of  the  Psalms.  ]Mr.  Dodds, 
however,  gets  away  bravely  from  psalms  when 
he  comes  to  sit  beside  me  of  an  evening.  He 
loves  to  hold  Scrappie,  and  sing  to  her,  "Shut 
Down  the  Curtains  of  Your  Sweet  Blue 
Eyes."  Herbert  delights  her  with  "JNIacna- 
mara's  Band." 

[178] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

I  have  had  other  visitors  in  this  first  week. 
Most  welcome  was  the  chaplain  of  the  British 
cruiser  Swiftsure,  of  whom  we  had  seen  some- 
thing before  Scrappie  arrived.  (Note  how  I 
date  everything  by  Scrappie?)  Scrappie  was 
about  fifty  hours  old  when  he  turned  up  with 
a  bottle  of  old  brandy  under  his  arm.  I  was 
glad  to  have  his  call — and  the  bottle — just  as 
Herbert  was  going  off  once  more.  And  with 
my  door  open — it  could  not  be  shut  all  the  time 
— I  could  hear  those  dreadful  telegrams  being 
read  that  kept  coming  from  Kessab,  Dortyol," 
Had j  in  and  other  towns  of  our  vilayet  and  of 
Northern  Syria.  Everywhere  it  was  the  same 
story. 

Yesterday  a  second  American  battle  cruiser 
arrived.  It  was  the  Montana.  The  North 
Carolina  came  in  several  days  ago.  The  first 
officer  to  land  from  the  Montana  was  Lieuten- 
ant-Commander Beach.  When  he  came  to 
the  Mission  to  call,  I  asked  Miss  Talbot  to 
bring  him  in.  He  stayed  some  time,  and  would 
[179] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

have  cheered  me  up  a  lot  had  he  not  mentioned 
that  Lili  Neumann  was  dead.  He  did  not 
know,  of  course,  what  Lih  was  to  me,  and  I 
managed  to  say  nothing.  Under  other  circum- 
stances it  would  have  been  a  bad  shock,  but  just 
now  nothing  seems  to  go  too  deep.  However, 
my  face  must  have  told  him  I  was  suffering,  for 
he  looked  down  so  kindly,  and  asked  if  there 
was  anything  I  wanted.  "Because,  by  Jove! 
you  can  have  the  ship,"  he  declared.  I  told  him 
I  hadn't  seen  ice  for  ten  months.  "Just  the 
thing,"  he  exclaimed.  A  few  hours  later,  sail- 
ors brought  a  huge  rectangle  of  the  most  deli- 
cious thing  in  the  world.  There  was  also  a 
bottle  of  Bols  cura9ao,  and  a  sweet  note. 
People  are  good. 

Mr.  Dodds  and  Mr.  Wilson  and  Herbert  got 
to  work  on  the  ice  with  hatchets.  Mrs.  Dodds 
made  ice-cream  last  night  and  again  for  lunch 
to-day. 

I  must  stop  this  letter,  which  has  been  writ- 
ten largely  on  the  inspiration  of  that  ice-cream. 
[180] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Miss  Talbot  has  scolded  me  twice,  and  she 
has  n't  seen  other  times  that  I  got  the  paper 
and  pencil  mider  the  mattress  too  soon  for  her. 
I  cannot  leave  it,  though,  without  telling  you 
of  another  invaluable  helper.  The  very  day 
of  Scrappie's  arrival,  a  wee,  sawed-off  Ai*me- 
nian  woman  came  in.  I  heard  somebody  say 
"Sh,"  but  she  started  in  her  toothless  Jabber- 
wocky.  Miss  Talbot  tried  the  effect  of  cool, 
insistent  English,  but  she  couldn't  put  Dudu 
Hanum  out.  For  Dudu  Hanum  squatted 
down  on  the  floor,  and  I  snickered.  Miss  T. 
thought  I  was  asleep.  She  went  to  get  Mrs. 
Dodds  to  interpret.  In  the  meantime,  Dudu 
Hanum  addressed  me.  She  rolled  up  her 
sleeves  and  held  her  arms  out  and  then  up  over 
her  head  the  way  you  do  when  you  want  to 
stop  hiccoughs.  All  the  while  she  talked  volu- 
bly. It  was  n't  Turkish.  I  had  learned  some 
of  that.  As  it  didn't  sound  like  a  gang  of 
wreckers  pulling  down  a  house,  it  was  n't 
Arabic.  Must  be  Armenian.  I  recognized 
[181] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

Dudu  Hanum  as  the  sister  of  the  agent  who 
gets  our  ;things  out  of  the  custom-house.  Fi- 
nally we  learned  what  it  was  all  about.  Dudu 
Hanum  was  saying:  "I  have  no  gift  to  give 
you,  but  I  have  these  two  hands.  Let  me  do 
your  washing.  I  shall  wash  all  your  things 
and  all  of  the  baby's."  The  blessed  old  thing 
comes  early  every  morning.  What  garments 
Mrs.  Dodds  allows  to  escape  from  her  own 
capable  hands,  Dudu  Hanum  washes,  and 
hangs  them  to  dry  upon  the  sun-baked  roof. 


[183] 


OFF  TO  EGYPT 

May  twenty-seventh. 
Granny  Dear: 

"The  force  of  example"  was  a  diy  old  phrase 
to  me  not  longer  than  twenty-one  days  ago. 
But  since  Scrapple's  coming  has  moved  the 
generations  in  our  family  back  one  whole  cog, 
I  have  been  thinking  about  that  phrase  as  some- 
thing vital.  If  I  continue  to  call  you 
"Mother,"  Scrappie  will  call  you  that.  Must 
I  also  begin  now  to  call  Herbert  "father" — 
move  him  back  a  generation,  too? 

I  feel  as  if  I  had  always  had  Scrappie.  We 
are  not  yet  at  the  end  of  May.  But  April 
seems  ages  ago.  The  mail  from  America  is 
just  coming  with  stories  of  the  massacres,  and 
what  I  read  seems  unreal.  Most  of  it  is.  The 
stories  about  us  are  absurd.  We  never  "fled 
[183] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

to  the  coast."  We  sent  but  one  cablegram  to 
Philadelphia,  and  none  at  all  to  Hartford. 
That  cablegram  contained  only  the  single  word 
"safe"  to  relieve  your  anxiety.  I  see  now  what 
that  anxiety  must  have  been.  So  you  read 
that  Tarsus  was  wiped  off  the  map  ?  It  would 
have  been — had  not  the  wind  changed  that 
night. 

Since  I  have  been  quietly  resting,  stretched 
out  on  my  back,  I  have  decided  to  put  April, 
1909,  out  of  my  life.  Herbert  and  I  do  not 
want  to  share  each  other's  memories.  We  have 
not  told  each  other  all  we  have  seen — nor  even 
all  we  felt  and  all  we  did.  I  cannot  get  Her- 
bert's full  story  from  him.  He  does  not  ask 
for  mine. 

Of  course,  we  cannot  escape  the  result  of  the 
events  we  have  lived.  Just  as  Herbert's  hair 
has  become  so  white,  there  must  be  something 
inside  of  us  changed,  too.  Time  alone  will  tell 
that.  Only  one  thing  we  do  realize  right  now, 
— our  responsibility  to  the  Armenians.  We 
[184] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

must  work  in  Egypt,  in  France,  in  Germany, 
in  England — and,  perhaps  later,  in  America — 
to  let  the  world  know  how  the  Armenians  have 
suffered  and  what  their  lot  must  always  be 
under  Turkish  rule.  We  see  too — oh,  so 
clearly — how  heartless  and  cynical  the  diplo- 
mats of  Europe  are.  They  are  the  cause,  as 
much  as  the  Turks,  of  the  massacres.  Not  the 
foreign  pohcy  of  Russia  or  Germany  alone. 
As  far  as  the  Near  East  goes,  the  Great 
Powers  are  equally  guilty.  No  distinction  can 
be  drawn  between  them.  In  England,  in  Ger- 
many and  in  France,  people  do  not  care — be- 
cause these  horrible  things  are  done  so  far 
away.  They  are  indifferent  to  their  own 
solemn  treaty  obligations.  They  are  ignorant 
of  the  cruelty  and  wickedness  of  the  selfish 
policy  pursued  by  the  men  to  whom  they  en- 
trust their  foreign  affairs.  I  see  blood  when  I 
think  of  what  is  called  "European  diplomacy" 
— for  blood  is  there,  blood  shed  before  your 
eyes. 

[185] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

We  are  looking  forward  eagerly  to  having 
you  join  us  in  France  next  month.  We  shall 
not  talk  of  the  massacres,  to  you  or  to  any  one, 
except  so  much  as  is  necessary  to  help  the  Ar- 
menian Relief  Fund  and  to  show  the  wicked- 
ness and  faithlessness  of  the  diplomacy  of  the 
Powers  in  Turkey.  Herbert  and  I  have  been 
saved,  and  we  have  our  blessed  baby.  Our 
life  is  ahead  of  us — we  are  glad  to  have  it  ahead 
— and  we  want  to  spend  our  time  and  energy 
in  meeting  new  duties,  in  solving  new  problems. 
Perhaps  that  is  the  spirit  of  youth.  But  then 
we  are  young,  and  what  interests  us  is  our 
baby's  generation.  The  new  life  dates  from 
May  5th,  when  she  came  to  us. 

Dear,  dear,  you  would  never  guess  from  this 
long  letter  I  am  writing  what  is  going  to  hap- 
pen this  afternoon.  I  am  able  to  write  only 
because  of  the  stem  orders  I  got  from  the  boss 
this  morning.  He  has  immobilized  me.  I  am 
lazily  resting  in  bed  just  as  if  I  hadn't  been 
up  yet  at  all.  My  bed  is  an  island,  entirely 
[186] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

surrounded  by  luggage.  Suitcases  are  nearest 
me.  Trunks  and  steamer  bundle  are  by  the 
door.  A  Russian  steamer  is  due  to  leave  this 
evening.  Herbert  has  taken  passage  on  her 
as  far  as  Beirut.  There  we  shall  catch  the 
Italian  leaving  Saturday,  or  perhaps  the  ]Mes- 
sageries  Portugal,  scheduled  for  Monday. 
Fancy  going  to  Egypt  to  get  cool  in  summer ! 
Most  people  go  there  to  get  warm  in  winter. 
Our  year  is  finished.  We  meant  to  go  early 
in  June,  anyway.  It  is  a  good  thing  I  am  feel- 
ing so  well,  and  got  my  strength  back  so 
quickly.  The  heat  is  coming  on,  and  we  fear 
quarantine  at  Beirut  and  Port  Said,  if  an  epi- 
demic breaks  out  here.  This  is  an  urgent 
reason  for  our  going  immediately.  Herbert 
turned  over  night  from  a  college  professor  to 
a  newspaper  man.  He  has  managed  to  send 
dispatches  by  little  boats  to  Cyprus  and  they 
have  gone  uncensored  to  Paris.  But  now  he 
has  done  all  that  needs  to  be  done  here  in  the 
way  of  getting  news  out.  Much  good  has  been 
[187] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

accomplished  by  publicity.  If  you  did  n't  have 
me  here  to  think  about  when  you  opened  your 
newspaper  at  the  breakfast  table,  you  would 
just  read  headlines,  and  say,  "the  Armenians 
are  in  trouble  again."  By  "you"  I  mean  the 
average  person  at  home.  Now  what  Herbert 
and  I  must  do  is  to  tell  our  story  and  give  our 
testimony  as  convincingly  as  we  can,  and  then 
put  it  where  the  most  people  can  see  it.  We 
detest  the  advertisement  from  a  personal  stand- 
point, but  cannot  consider  that  now. 

S.  S,  "Assouan*' 

Off  the  Cilician  Coast, 
Friday  night. 
May  tweiity-seventn. 
It  was  n't  a  Russian  steamer  after  all,  but 
an  old  tub  of  a  Khedivial.     It  is  a  palace  to  us, 
however,  and  the  British  flag  looks  good  to 
Americans. 

The  last  thing  that  happened  to  us  in  Turkey 
was  to  have  Scrappie  christened.     Dr.  Christie 
[188] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

and  Mother  Christie  came  down  to  say  good- 
by,  and  Socrates  with  them.  The  new  Ameri- 
can Consul  had  just  arrived  from  Patras. 
(He  turned  out  to  be  a  college  classmate  of 
Herbert's!)  A  christening  party  was  impro- 
vised for  our  farewell.  So  Scrappie  got  her 
name,  Christine  Este,  and  the  Consul  gave  a 
combination  birth  and  baptismal  certificate, 
with  the  Eagle  stamped  upon  it.  I  wore  my 
blue  dimity  dress.  Herbert  put  a  big  rocking- 
chair  behind  me,  so  that  I  could  flop  down  in 
it  the  first  minute  I  felt  tired.  Scrappie  wore 
the  prettiest  of  her  long  dresses,  and  under 
her  chin  was  tucked  an  Indian  embroidered 
handkerchief  that  Mrs.  Doughty- Wylie  had 
long  ago  given  me  against  the  christening  day. 
It  was  an  odd  gathering,  missionaries,  Eng- 
lish and  American  naval  officers,  sailors  from 
the  warships,  Armenian  friends,  some  of  our 
boys,  including  Socrates,  and  others  I  did  not 
know  who  came  to  help  eat  the  cake  and  drink 
the  sherbet.  In  the  Orient,  one's  door  is  open 
[189] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

to  all  the  world  at  a  feast.  I  got  nervous  only 
when  they  wanted  to  kiss  the  baby.  Scrappie 
howled,  and  I  was  glad  of  the  excuse  to  with- 
draw her. 

When  I  went  downstairs  to  the  carriage,  one 
of  the  officers  of  the  North  Carolina  carried  my 
bag,  and  drove  me  to  the  scala.  Mother  Chris- 
tie held  Scrappie.  The  North  Carolina's 
launch  was  waiting.  Out  we  went  to  the  great 
ship,  where  I  was  to  spend  the  afternoon. 
The  Christies  and  others  were  coming  later  to 
say  good-by.  Herbert  was  to  spend  the  after- 
noon rounding  up  the  baggage  with  the  help 
of  Socrates,  and  row  it  out  to  the  Assouan. 
A  London  war  correspondent  had  just  arrived, 
too — ^the  first  of  the  newspaper  men — and 
Herbert  had  to  pilot  him  around. 

The  sky-line  of  Mersina,  broken  by  the 
minarets,  gleamed  white  in  the  sunshine.  I 
did  not  dare  to  think  too  hard  about  what  I 
was  leaving.  My  mind  flew  back  to  the  day 
I  left  Tarsus,  how  the  Armenian  women 
[190] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

pressed  my  hands,  touched  my  dress  as  I 
passed,  and  made  me  promise  to  come  back. 
I  cheered  up  by  looking  at  the  American  flag 
waving  from  the  stern  of  the  launch.  Only  a 
year  ago,  and  that  was  the  natural  sight.  I  did 
not  know  that  Tarsus  and  Mersina  existed. 
Turkey  was  something  I  thought  would  forever 
be  vague.  And  now — it  has  become  a  part 
of  my  life.  All  right  to  talk  about  banishing 
memories.  But  could  we?  The  sunshine  of 
the  East  they  say  casts  its  spell  forever  over 
those  who  have  lived  in  it.  Would  we  ever 
comeback? 

We  steamed  for  a  mile  straight  out  to  sea. 
The  officers  told  me  I  was  in  command,  and 
jollied  along  as  if  I  were  not  a  matron  with 
a  baby.  One  ensign,  a  Southerner,  of  course, 
called  me  "Miss"  with  that  inimitable  drawl. 
He  was  just  the  kind  who  would  have  made  it 
"sweetheart"  in  an  hour.  I  felt  a  bit  shaky 
when  the  launch  drew  up  beside  the  gleaming 
white  cruiser.  As  we  reached  the  ladder  and 
[191] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

then  fell  away,  I  imagined  my  baby  falling 
into  the  water.  First  touch  of  maternal  worry, 
which  I  suppose  I  shall  now  have  for  the  rest 
of  my  life.  The  lieutenant-commander  took 
the  baby.  Two  ensigns  carried  me  up.  Once 
on  that  ship  I  was  at  home. 

The  captain  was  waiting  to  greet  the  young- 
est girl  who  had  ever  been  entertained  on  the 
North  Carolina.  Scrappie  was  fixed  up  in  an 
officer's  bunk,  where  I  knew  she  would  sleep 
just  as  placidly  as  ashore  until  it  was  time  for 
her  next  meal.  I  was  invited  into  the  ward- 
room. A  leather  arm-chair  and — I  ought  to 
write  a  cup  of  tea,  but  it  was  n't — awaited  me. 
The  officers,  of  course,  knew  lots  of  my  friends. 
My  mind  went  waltzing  back  to  dancing  days 
in  the  Armory  and  to  my  birthday  dinners  at 
the  old  Bellevue  after  Army-Navy  games.  I 
was  living  in  the  anti-Herbert  period,  when 
parsons  and  missionaries  and  Turkey  and 
babies  did  not  claim  me. 

There  was  a  soft  knock  at  the  steel  door  that 
[192] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

stood  ajar.  A  big  negro  put  in  his  head,  and 
announced:     "Missus,  dat  chile  am  cryin'." 

I  hurried  to  my  responsibihty.  Beside  the 
bunk,  looking  down  at  the  tiny  mite,  stood  a 
coon  in  white  linen.  "Missus,"  he  said,  "de 
cap'n  tole  me  to  keep  mah  eye  on  dis  li'l  baby, 
an'  not  even  let  a  fly  walk  'cross  dat  chile's 
face.  I  wants  yoh  t'  know,  lady,  dem  's  de  bes' 
awdahs  dis  coon  's  had  sence  he  lef  home.  But 
I  could  n't  stop  it  cryin'  jes'  now." 

As  I  picked  up  Scrappie,  whose  great  blue 
eyes  shelter  no  shadow  of  the  hell  that  came  so 
near,  I  realized,  with  a  wave  of  happiness  over- 
whelming me,  that  I  alone  could  quiet  her. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Herbert  came  with 
Miss  Talbot  and  the  Dodds  and  Christies. 
They  accompanied  us  to  the  Assouan  in  the 
launch.  It  was  hard  to  say  good-by  to  the 
women  who  had  been  nearest  during  the  days 
of  danger  and  suffering.  Mother  Christie 
held  Scrappie  to  the  last  moment.  Miss  Tal- 
bot, my  faithful  nurse,  who  had  stuck  by  me 
[193] 


THE  RED  RUGS  OF  TARSUS 

for  seven  weeks  with  unwavering  devotion 
when  there  was  so  much  larger  and  so  much 
more  tempting  a  field  in  nursing  the  wounded 
— what  could  I  say  to  her?  Jeanne  Imer  and 
Mary  Rogers  had  been  with  me  constantly.  I 
expected  to  see  them  soon  again  in  Europe. 
But  Mrs.  Dodds,  who  had  taken  me  in  and 
done  for  me  as  if  I  were  one  of  her  own  family 
— was  I  just  to  say  "Thank  you!"?  I  said  to 
Mrs.  Dodds:  "What  can  I  ever  do  for  you 
to — to — "  She  gently  interrupted.  "You 
don't  know  Hfe,  dear,  if  you  think  you  can  do 
anything  for  me.  You  will  probably  never  see 
me  again.  If  you  ever  meet  a  woman  having 
a  baby  under  difficult  circumstances — just  help 
her!" 


FINIS 


[194] 


